


Subterfuge

by Xanthe



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 82,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanthe/pseuds/Xanthe
Summary: Mulder and Skinner go undercover in the gay S/M underworld in order to solve a case and find out some surprising things about themselves





	Subterfuge

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Subterfuge by Xanthe

TITLE: Subterfuge 1/4  
AUTHOR: Xanthe  
RATING: NC17. Mulder/Skinner  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Skinner go undercover in the gay S/M underworld in order to solve a case and find out some surprising things about themselves.  
SPOILER: Some general references. Nothing specific.  
Disclaimer: They belong to CC not me. I'm sure he'd never do something this silly with them. I don't profit by it at all. Uh-Uh. No way.  
Holmes suggested that this belonged to the genre of "BDSM Romantic Comedy" (yeah, THAT well-known genre!). Thanks to Holmes for the advice, practical help and encouragement (and the title).

* * *

Subterfuge  
Part One

The blood running down my jaw isn't as distracting as the smell of vomit - that makes me retch. I pound uselessly on the door for a while, asking to be transferred to a cell that doesn't have a pile of puke in one corner, or at least for them to come and clean this one up but instead I just get shouted at to shut up. Which is fair enough I suppose, in the circumstances. They're busy and I'm just another Friday night drunk who's been involved in a brawl. Only I'm not, drunk that is, and as for the brawl - it really wasn't my fault. Explaining that might just prove to be a little difficult though. Not for the first time I wish I'd done the paperwork first and started the investigation second. Ass first again, Mulder. Scully will be furious - if I'm lucky. It's when she doesn't care that I get worried. All the same I'm concerned about Lenny and I have to get out of here soon - even apart from the puke and the blood and the way my jaw hurts - there's definitely something going down and Lenny's been a good informant. He might need some back up if my identity is revealed. Which is why I didn't take my gun or my ID to that club and which is also why nobody here believes me when I tell them I'm with the FBI, although the desk sergeant does agree (grudgingly) to phone my boss to check.

"Name?" He asks wearily.

"Fox Mulder."

"No. Your boss's name. You've already told me yours," he sighs.

"Oh. Skinner. Assistant Director Skinner." Now I'm the one sighing. This is one of those moments in life when you really wish you'd done things differently. It's 3 a.m. or near enough. If Skinner is actually at home, sleeping (do the undead sleep?) then he's not going to be happy to be dragged out here to pick me up. Lying to them by saying Scully is my boss is a tempting thought, but really I'm in enough trouble right now without making it any worse. And Skinner's going to find out about all this at some point anyway.

So, back to the vomit hellhole, ensconced between 2 drunks and an exceedingly butch leather queen who keeps smiling at me in a way that I'm starting to find threatening. He's not drunk. I'm beginning to wish he was, especially when he comes over and sits down next to me, puts a hand on my knee and stares deeply into my eyes.

"I saw you at Krypton didn't I?" He asks.

"Not necessarily." I'm torn between keeping my cover and decking him to save my chastity - although he's pretty big and I'm definitely feeling the worse for wear. My head hurts, the cut on my jaw has started to bleed again and the room occasionally swims around like Esther Williams on speed.

"Oh yeah. You were. I noticed you. You were with Lenny." His hand moves up my leg and rests, proprietarily, on my thigh. "Now Lenny's a sub and you're a sub, so you two boys can't be involved," he leers, his other meaty arm going round my shoulder. Not again. I've had enough of this for one evening.

"A sub? No way. Not me." I try to sit up and look mean but my head hurts too much to carry it off convincingly. I can kick ass with the best of them - I'm a trained FBI agent for god's sake, but I'm not at my best right now. I'm not dressed as a dom, but then it suited me to be ambiguous on this initial foray into the sado-masochistic, homosexual underworld. Maybe I was naïve. And under prepared. Yes I accept that - I made a couple of mistakes.

"Yeah. You are." He grins, his fist ending up in my hair and pulling my head back. I have to admit that I yelp and the room is still swimming alarmingly or I'd fight back. "I've been on the scene for 30 years, son. You're a sub, even if you don't know it yet."

"Let go." I'm feeling very threatened here!

"Why? The touch of a strong guy turning you on too much?" That hand on my thigh moves up and rummages around in my crotch. I can assure you that it finds nothing incriminating. I am NOT turned on by this, just feeling very, very sorry for myself and promising that if I get out of this cell alive, I'll file 302's, complete forms in triplicate, accept 5 burly agents in back-up and brief Skinner on every trip I take to the washroom on my next mission. I am just about to get felt up by Mr Butch when salvation arrives. I've called him my beacon in the night before, but trust me, this time he IS. Butch Daddy Two looms in the doorway and saves me from Butch Daddy One.

"Mulder." He stands there and looks at us both expressionlessly for a moment. "I got a call," he murmurs, his eyes fixing Mr Butch with that cold glare he usually saves for agents who haven't filed their reports on time. Mr Butch locks stares with him and I feel like I'm involved in some sort of ancient rutting ritual between two stags or something. Finally Mr Butch backs down (let's face it, he was never going to win) and he grins and releases my hair and removes his hand from my groin.

"Looks like your master's come to reclaim his property," he chuckles. "Let's just hope he doesn't punish you too bad when he gets you home. He looks pretty pissed. Maybe he didn't give you permission to be out pulling other guys this evening." This is just SO embarrassing and I get to my feet and lurch towards the door to escape. The stench of vomit is overpowering and I'm really feeling ill - that's my excuse anyway. "You lied to me, pretty boy!" Mr Butch calls after me. "You should'a said someone already owned you." I notice a slight tightening around Skinner's mouth and his glare intensifies. Turning, I see that Mr Butch is looking less butch by the second. "I don't want no trouble." He holds up his hands towards Skinner in surrender. "I was just playing. He didn't say he belonged to someone already. I didn't know." I'm impressed. Skinner's got this guy fooled and he's hardly even said a word.

The room is still swimming and I crash into Skinner as I pass. He doesn't move but his blank, threatening stare is now fixed on me and suddenly I know why Mr Butch was so scared. I stagger out into the corridor quickly.

"He one of yours?" The desk sergeant nods his head in my direction as we head for the exit.

"Yes." Skinner fixes me with a speculative, faintly irritated stare and then sighs. "He is." How small am I feeling at this point? Oh, pretty small, not far off the ground to be honest. Skinner escorts me to his car and gets in without saying a word and I slink in beside him. He angles the car out onto the road, which is empty of traffic at this time of night and then clears his throat. I wait for it...

"I'm sure you have a very good explanation for this, Mulder," he says neutrally. "Would you like to give it to me back at the office now or later on tomorrow after you've had a chance to rest up and..." he considers my blood-stained clothing with distaste, "change?"

"Now." I reply firmly, thinking about Lenny.

"Did they take you to the Emergency Room first, Mulder? I'm concerned about your face," he says, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Officer Stevens didn't seem to think it was bad enough to do any long-term damage to my dating prospects," I grin, trying to lighten him up and failing. "So they didn't take me to the E.R. Don't worry - I've washed the blood off a couple of times, it isn't as bad as it looks. We should go back to the office - there's a whole lot of stuff I need to tell you about."

He glances at me thoughtfully with just a hint of an unspoken "better late than never" in that stare, but he doesn't say anything and I know he won't until I've explained myself. That's the enigmatic Mr Skinner for you - when you expect him to chew you out he's trying to take you to the hospital as if he's your mom and then and then when you least expect it, he's hauling your ass over the coals about something. We don't speak for the rest of the journey. I need to get all this straight in my head and he's obviously thinking that if we start now he'll end up succumbing to his own version of road rage and crash the car.

The light is on in his office and his jacket is over the back of his chair. I notice that he's still wearing his dress trousers and a shirt and tie, so I guess I didn't wake him. What is it he finds to do at 3 o' clock in the morning? And I thought I was a workaholic!

"Sit down." He gestures to a chair and I clutch my handkerchief to my cut jaw, which has started bleeding again. It isn't much use as my handkerchief is already soaked with my blood. Skinner disappears for a moment then reappears with a cup of water and a medical kit. He perches on the desk in front of me, dips a cotton ball into the water and taking my chin in his hand, he starts clearing up the wound.

"I have no 302 filed, I don't recall giving you a case involving gay night-clubs and there is no record anywhere of your intention to work undercover on an investigation this evening," he says as he works. "I'm presuming this has nothing to do with your social life or at least I hope not - I do not expect to be called out to rescue my agents from every drunken brawl they get involved in after hours. I'm also assuming that the fact that you took neither your gun nor your ID with you to this club was not just one of your little Mulderesque oversights, along with the complete absence of any back-up. I'm sure that you have very good reasons for all these actions and I expect to hear them outlined to me in full just as soon as I've finished here."

He's speaking in a low, even tone and he doesn't seem too pissed off. His fingers are actually gentle as he washes off all the blood and surveys the cut underneath.

"You were right. Looks worse than it is," he tells me, smearing something on it then snapping the medical kit shut and going to sit down at his desk. He leans back expectantly in his chair.

"It's about these ritualistic cult murders of gay men in..." I begin. He frowns.

"Mulder - there haven't been any cult murders," he says.

"Yeah there have."

"Are you talking about the men who were mutilated and dumped in the Potomac?" He asks. "I don't recall anything about that being "ritualistic". And anyway, we have a team working on that case. I assigned them myself."

"Yeah. I know." I have the grace to flush a bit, then charge on. "But Roberts showed me some of the photos a couple of days ago and something about the way they were mutilated - it just stuck in my head. I couldn't work it out until yesterday. That's when I called Lenny."

"Lenny?" He frowns.

"Lenny's into the s/m scene in DC. He used to be an informant for me before I worked on the X Files. He's a nice guy."

"A purely professional opinion I take it?" One raised eyebrow. Is he making a joke? Surely that's never happened before - I ought to get the moment taped or something.

"Yeah. Lenny's not my type." I smirk and there is just a trace of knowing amusement in those dark brown eyes before they go all grim again.

"What was it that caught your interest?" He leans forward, genuinely wanting to hear my insights on this case. It always surprises me how broad minded he can be. Despite his tedious obsession with following the letter of the law and orthodox procedures, he'll take that leap of faith if I can give him enough hard evidence to warrant it. Flukemen spring uneasily to mind...

"The mutilations weren't random - they were specific. A specific symbol. It wasn't noticed because the symbol is fairly obscure and there were so many other cuts on the bodies. Here." I take a pen and sheet of paper and draw the symbol for him.

"What is it?" He frowns, picking up the paper.

"It's an astrological symbol representing the star sign Taurus - the bull. I checked with Lenny - all the men who were killed had at some point been on the s/m scene here in DC. They all disappeared some weeks before they were killed. Or at least, some weeks before we found their bodies."

"So the killer has a knowledge of new age symbolism. That necessitated you going to this nightclub why?" he asks. It's a good question.

"Oh no reason. I just wanted a walk on the wild side." I answer flippantly. He frowns. I sigh inwardly - that one brief joke of his was obviously an aberration. "All of the guys who were killed were part of the Mithras ring."

"Mithras?" Never let it be said that he allows ANYTHING to pass unquestioned.

"It's the name of an ancient cult religion - the worship of a bull god in an exclusively male environment and a particularly popular cult amongst ancient Roman soldiers, probably for some fairly obvious reasons." He's giving me a 'skip the classical history lecture and get on with the facts' look. "Okay, it's also the name that a fringe group of sadists have adopted for their secret society. They're a scary bunch but so far as we know they haven't stepped outside the law before. They're also very select - you need to be a high level player to get in and most of the guys at Krypton last night would have given their right arms for the honor or their left ones - if you'll forgive the joke." I grin, thinking of Krycek. Just the sort of place he'd feel at home. Skinner gazes at me quizzically for a moment and then almost breaks into a smile but catches himself just in time.

"Krypton's pretty way out as these s/m places go. It attracts a certain kind of clientele. Lenny said that some of the Mithras tops occasionally cruise Krypton looking for suitable slaves to drag back to their lair. Only the prettiest and most subservient need apply I gather. I thought that I might be able to check them out - if Lenny could point them out to me, I could do some research on them and..."

"Wait a moment." Oh shit. Now it's coming. He's furious. When did that mood swing take place? "Are you telling me, that you went to this night-club on your own, without telling anyone, without even sharing ANY of these insights either with me or anyone working on this case? That you put yourself into a potentially life-threatening situation where you knew it was possible you could bump into a serial killer with a penchant for the sort of men who hang out in that place and you still didn't deem it necessary to take any back-up?"

"I wasn't going as bait!" I protest. "I didn't intend to be picked up or anything!"

"Mulder, judging by the attitude of that man in the cells when I arrived to bail you out, bait is exactly what you were, whether you consciously knew that or not. I'm not being personal here, but if 'Mithras' were cruising for new recruits they would have found you an interesting proposition. If you can't see that then you're kidding yourself and I think you're smarter than that. Now I'm interested in the angle you have on this case and I'd like to assign you to the team, but first of all I want to make one thing clear." He pauses for a moment then fixes me with a grim, almost life-threatening stare. "No more maverick tactics. I have no idea what the hell you thought you were doing but don't let it happen again. Tonight's escapade was foolhardy and stupid. Your complete lack of regard for FBI procedures can be very tiring, Mulder. Now I've tolerated, to a certain extent, your methods of investigation on the X Files but while you work on this case, you'll do as I say. And I mean that this time. Oh hell, I mean it every time, but this time you'll report directly to me. Do I make myself clear?"

Oh yeah. Very clear.

"Yes, sir." I mutter. Damn. I hate teamwork - I always end up shooting my mouth off and upsetting everyone. I thought I might get a head start on this one that would prevent me having to listen to the slow thought processes of my fellow agents. I don't mean to sound superior, but sometimes I get way ahead of myself and I just have to run with it, I can't stop and that really pisses people off. Skinner's understood that in the past but he's reining me in right now and I suppose I can't blame him under the circumstances.

"Now none of this explains what you were doing at 3 a.m. in the drunk tank," he points out. I was sort of hoping he'd forgotten about that.

"It was nothing. Just a little misunderstanding. A bit of a brawl, the police were called." I shrug. Nice try, Mulder but Skinner's one of those "no stone left unturned" guys - it's probably how he got this far in the Bureau.

"Since I'll have to file a report on this whole incident, I think I'd like it explained to me in full," he says, tapping his pen on the desk impatiently. I'm blushing as I take a deep breath and plunge right in.

"I was being...um...pestered by someone. Lenny explained to me that sometimes it's better to take along a top to...protect you from unwanted advances - Krypton's that sort of place. I told you, it's on the far side of weird. So after a while we...we..." This is not easy. "We decided I'd act like I was Lenny's top, so that we could get rid of this guy." I stop. There is silence. Skinner waits. I realize that there is no way out. "All right, the guy didn't buy it. In fact none of them did. Apparently I do not make a very convincing top." There, said it. One of his eyebrows is nearly leaping off his face in a "you don't say?" expression. "It was a tense situation. I think I was accused of being a "tease", giving off some mixed signals - people were drunk, it got out of hand, punches were thrown, the police were called, you know the rest."

I think he wants to laugh. I really think he does. In fact, I think that if he could he would throw himself around the room and howl hysterically but that masterly self control kicks in and he just sits there for a long while, staring at my head impassively. I sense he's fighting an inner battle. He wins.

"Right." His tone is a bit low and choked. "I think that about covers it for now. You need to go home and get some rest." I open my mouth and he fixes me with a cold stare. "That's an order, Mulder."

"But what about Lenny?" I say quickly. "He wasn't arrested and neither was that other guy who was bothering us. I don't know what happened to Lenny but we did sort of draw attention to ourselves. If anyone found out I was FBI, or if that other guy is still mad at me, then Lenny might be in trouble."

"Do you know where Lenny lives?" He asks me.

"Yes."

"Then I suggest we go and check out whether he got home safely. After that I'll make sure that you get home safely."

"Yes, sir." (I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic here but it doesn't seem wise to argue.)

 I knock on Lenny's door furiously and am on the verge of drawing my gun when he opens the door sleepily.

"Yo...Mulder. You okay, buddy?" He peers at the cut on my chin. "I was worried about you."

"I'm fine, Lenny. I was just checking up on you."

He opens the door to let me in, catches sight of Skinner and you can just see him going weak at the knees as his eyes travel over and devour every inch of my boss's large frame. I've never seen such naked lust - and directed at my boss as well. It startles me.

"Who's the big guy?" He asks me coyly, simpering a bit.

"Assistant Director Skinner. FBI. My boss." I tell him.

"Lucky you." He purses his lips. Skinner clears his throat.

"You're Lenny?" He asks.

"Guilty as charged." Lenny flirts outrageously and I wonder how Skinner will take this but he just fixes Lenny with what is nearly a smile and Lenny melts.

"I'd like to thank you for your help this evening, Lenny. Agent Mulder has told me all about it. I think your input on this case will be valuable to us. Would you call me tomorrow and arrange a time to come in and advise us? I'll see to it that you're...reimbursed for your time." Skinner says, handing Lenny a card with his number on it. Lenny accepts it as if it's his invitation to heaven. He's pretty - blond curly hair, blue eyes, a bit thin and not very tall. I have no idea why people weren't convinced that I was a top but he'd have been even less successful in the role than I was.

"Oh I'll call!" Lenny gushes. At that moment there's a sound from his bedroom and a man staggers into the room, looking around blearily.

"Lenny - where'd you go?" The man calls. Then he sees me, straightens up and a murderous look leaps into his eyes. "You!"

It's the guy who started the brawl, the one who was pursuing me and wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Lenny how could you!" I murmur reproachfully. Lenny shrugs and grins.

"Once you were out of the picture..." He mutters. The guy is advancing on us menacingly.

"I've still got a score to settle with you," he tells me. He looks mean but like I said - I can handle myself. However I've already lost one fight with him tonight, my head aches, my jaw hurts and I'm really not in the mood for another brawl. I only back up a little way before I find myself bumping into Skinner.

"We don't want any trouble. Why don't you and Lenny just go back to...bed and we'll be leaving." Skinner says smoothly. Lenny's belligerent lover gives Skinner a speculative look and then nods and shrugs, backing down.

"Come on, Lenny." He pulls Lenny back in the direction of the bedroom and with one last, lingering look at my boss, Lenny goes. What is it with Skinner and these dom guys? I wonder to myself as we leave the apartment in silence. Is it the physique? I mean I'm just as tall as he is and they don't all back down when I stare at them. Is it that grim-faced, unsmiling look? Maybe I'll have to work on that. Or the bald head? The air of authority? Whatever it is, so far he's out-topped two experienced tops, so it's pretty convincing. I feel a vague pang of envy. I wish I had this knack - it would come in useful in everyday life and might stop me getting screwed over by so many people. Oh you know who I mean - Cancerman, the whole Consortium, even goddamn Krycek.

Lenny is looking his winsome best for the meeting the following afternoon. Jeans, cowboy boots, blue denim shirt - this is his "on the range" look. Of course he wouldn't know one end of a horse from the other but Lenny's not one to let reality stand in the way of a good image. It's wasted on Skinner of course who is the person it's aimed at. He's his usual terse self. He briefly outlines my recent investigation to the team and Roberts shoots me a reproachful glance. I guess Skinner's already chewed him out for letting me see those photos. However they're all interested in the conclusions I've come to.

"What happens next, sir?" Roberts asks. "Is Mulder going back to the club?" He looks questioningly at me, then at Skinner and finally at Lenny who winks at him. Roberts blushes.

"Well this Krypton place seems to be our best way of locating the main players in the Mithras circle, so yes, I suppose another trip to the club is warranted. This time with proper back-up." Skinner shoots me a cool glance and Lenny grins at me and nudges me with his foot. I wish he'd stop giving everything a sexual context and I especially wish he'd stop casting me in the role of fellow gay sub lusting after my boss. It isn't true and it's distracting.

"We'll need to take Lenny's advice on how best to avoid an occurrence of last night's debacle." Skinner says. Lenny smiles delightedly.

"Well - I did try and warn Mulder about Krypton," he says and I sigh inwardly. Go ahead, Lenny, throw me to the lions. "Krypton's pretty far out as these places go. It's for the more...possessive types. There's some posturing - the doms try to steal other men's subs - it's part of the fun. It's a kind of macho thing. The tops who go to Krypton are a bit over-blessed with testosterone." Lenny grins. "They like to show how powerful they are. And the subs that go are really into being owned and having men fight over them. So it's the way out end of the scene, like I said. I'd suggest that next time Mulder goes as a sub and takes a top with him. And they both dress appropriately!" He smirks at me and I have a vision of myself in full collar and chains being dragged around at the end of a lead. Trust me - this vision does nothing for me.

"Right. That makes sense - it will also give us two men in the club. We'll have others on stand by outside." Skinner nods. "Agent Kendall, I suggest you accompany Agent Mulder inside and..."

"With all due respect, sir." Lenny rolls that "sir" over his tongue as if he's making love to it. "And nothing against Agent Kendall who I'm sure is very strong and tough and all." He smiles at Kendall who is a lean, wiry guy with a moustache. His turn to blush now. "But I think you underestimate the sort of thing that goes on in Krypton. That's the mistake Mulder made last night. And if you do get as far as being accepted within the Mithras ring - that is your aim isn't it...?" He looks at Skinner inquiringly. Skinner nods. "Well then you're going to need someone who can really pull the role off, sir. Or Mulder could find himself in big trouble."

"That won't be a first." Roberts mutters and someone splutters. Skinner silences them with one of his "stares".

"All right. I'm well aware of the delicate and embarrassing nature of this investigation," he says. "But however personally distasteful or uncomfortable you find it, there have been 5 men killed and we have a job to do. So forget the sniggering, gentlemen. Please." He glances round the room and everyone nods solemnly. "If any of you have a problem with the particular nature of this investigation I suggest you say so now." He regards the assembled agents impassively and of course nobody says anything. "All right then. What are you suggesting, Lenny?" He asks.

"I think you should be Agent Mulder's top on the mission, sir," he says. "I think you're the only one here who could really, well, carry the role off." A dreadful silence falls over the room. Everybody suddenly feels an urge to examine their ties. I don't. This amuses the hell out of me and I give Skinner a wide grin which he studiously declines to take any notice of whatsoever and of course after his last little speech Lenny has thrown him right in the big middle of it. He thinks about it for a moment then nods.

"Very well," he agrees. Not that he really had much choice. No point bringing Lenny in and asking his advice if you don't take it.

"Goody." Lenny claps his hands together. "I have the perfect outfits for both of you. Oh and you'll need me along too. I'll be able to point out the Mithras guys to you. It'll give you more kudos as well." He grins at Skinner who raises an inquiring eyebrow. "Two boys in your harem!" Lenny smirks. "And both of us quite adorable if I do say so myself!"

"Lenny." Skinner considers his words carefully. "This is an investigation - not real life. It could be dangerous and it could also blow your cover as an informant if these people suspect that we're FBI. In addition we have a dangerous serial killer at large. I don't think you've really considered the implications of your involvement. Now I'd be grateful for your help in the club, but you could very well be putting your life at risk. Please think very carefully about that."

"Well technically speaking Mulder and I aren't at any risk from the serial killer are we? I mean you will be but not us." Lenny looks slightly confused.

"What do you mean?" I ask, glancing at the other agents in the room. Everyone is looking at Lenny with puzzled expressions.

"Well the serial killer... I mean - those guys who's names you ran by me..." Lenny looks at me and then at everyone else. "I don't think I've got anything wrong here have I?" He points to the file on Skinner's desk, gets up and plucks out a couple of the photos. "I knew a couple of these guys and I'd heard of the others. Sean Flynn, George Redman, Phil..." His eyes get watery and he seems choked. "Phil." He shrugs. "They're all tops - all these guys who were murdered were tops. Did you think they were subs?" He glances round the room and takes in our stunned silence. "It's amazing how easy it is to stereotype isn't it? Aggressive, sadistic men who like tying up and beating poor defenseless boys - how easy for one of them to go too far and end up killing? Right?" Lenny looks as if he's about to get on his soapbox which for someone so empty-headed and vacuous is quite an achievement. "Well sorry, folks but life's not that simple. I don't know about these murders but I don't see how it could be the result of a scene going too far. All the tops I've known have been very safe - I'm sure there are some psychos out there but I've never been with one. And nothing ever happens to me that I don't want to happen." I'm sure he's going to get on a chair and scream "I'm submissive and I'm proud of it!" but luckily Skinner cuts him off before he reaches a crescendo.

"That's very interesting, Lenny. Thanks for pointing all this out to us. It strikes me that perhaps our perceptions are colored by a lack of understanding of the rules of this particular...er...subculture. Before we go back to Krypton, I think you had better make sure that we have a full understanding of them so that we can avoid any reoccurrence of last night's fiasco." Oh, any excuse to get in a dig at me. I didn't even see that one coming.

We spend an embarrassing couple of hours going through the "rules of this subculture" as Skinner so elegantly words it. As far as I can work out this means that Lenny and I get to simper and flirt so long as we do as we're told and ask permission to breathe while Skinner just gets to wander around looking menacing and snarling orders - no big change for him. Finally we're all sent off on our separate ways with orders to meet up again at 11pm to prepare for another visit to Krypton. Skinner's outlined the plan down to the last detail - I'm not surprised but I am impressed as I usually am, by his meticulous attention to planning. His methods really are the complete opposite to mine. I usually like to improvise, make things up as I go along, play it by ear but he doesn't like surprises and of course he has the safety of his agents to think about which adds a dimension to his work that I don't have to worry about. We're all going to be wearing wires and the backup team are to be sited in a van outside the club. There's little possibility of us coming to any serious harm. At this point it's all still a joke to me. I know there's a serious element, but let's face it, the situation is absurd and highly amusing. I'm sure Skinner must think so too. I'm even looking forward to it. Undercover missions are exciting and scary and it's amusing to pretend to be someone else for a while. Must be the thwarted performer in me. I know some guys have been murdered but maybe I'm not taking this as seriously as I might if it were an X File. It all just seems so absurd and it is at least a vacation from mutants and aliens - although frankly, not all that much different judging by those rules that Lenny ran by us.

Lenny turns up with a whole trunk full of clothes. Skinner takes one look at the tight leather trousers and chain mail vest that Lenny has picked out for him and shakes his head.

"Lenny, I don't question your judgement," he says smoothly. He doesn't? I do! It's clear that Lenny is just itching to get Skinner dressed up in his favorite fantasy outfit. Lenny is enjoying all this far too much. "But from what I've heard about the Mithras club, they're not this obvious are they? They're select? Elite?" He glances at me and I nod. "So I need to look like I'm a real player - not just someone who's looking for some action on a Saturday night. Right?" Very well played, Skinner. Shame about the leather trousers and chain mail though...I could have taken photos and used them for blackmail purposes next time he questions something I do with the X Files.

"I suppose." Lenny says sulkily.

"So what would you suggest - from your expert knowledge of these people?" Skinner's diplomacy can be breathtaking sometimes. Lenny is easily mollified.

"Something low-key." Lenny shrugs. "But totally dom. Black - obviously." He rummages around in his trunk again. I don't believe this - Skinner is going to get away with dressing like some elegant matinee idol and I just know that I'm going to end up in something skimpy and humiliating. I'm right - Skinner is soon attired in black chinos, a black polo neck, black suede waistcoat and his own pair of shiny black shoes. His only real concession to being masterful is the pair of handcuffs that Lenny makes him wear hanging from his belt and the dog lead he attaches to the buckle. "Just in case." Lenny says. In case of what? I wonder. In case we find a stray dog? Still he looks elegant but threatening - quite the part.

I get to wear a pair of shiny PVC pants and a revolting itchy mesh vest. The vest is also see-through - did I mention that? Oh and I suppose I ought to add that Lenny buckled a collar around my neck as well just to finish off my total humiliation. Lenny has chosen a black leather chest harness and a pair of tight leather shorts. Yes. Shorts. Still, he's used to it - I'm just glad he didn't suggest them for me. So, suitably attired, we set off.

"I still think you should have brought that riding crop." Lenny grumbles at Skinner as we arrive at the club. For someone who labels himself "submissive" he has a knack for making demands. I'm revising my opinions of this "subculture". Clearly it's not the tops who have all the power, clearly there is a good deal of manipulation that goes on. Lenny has been trying to get Skinner to bring the riding crop for the past 2 hours and you can see that he still hasn't quite given up on the idea. If I were Skinner I'd have screamed at him to shut up about it by now, but Skinner remains steadfastly unmoving in his decision which he has explained once and refuses to discuss again, leaving Lenny to complain snidely at every opportunity to no avail. In fact I think he's rather enjoying the struggle, pointless though it is but if he's hoping to provoke my boss into a display of erotic bad temper he's wasting his time. Skinner is scrupulously polite to him.

The club is even more packed than last night but I have to say there is a huge difference in the way I am treated. I still get ogled constantly but Skinner's presence seems to ensure that nobody actually makes an approach and he isn't even behaving any differently from the way he behaves in real life which is alarming. He buys us all drinks, although he won't let us have anything stronger than a coke, not even Lenny who pouts a bit about this. I think this is Lenny's standard technique with men he finds attractive - he just wants to provoke them into being masterful. He'll have a long wait with Skinner - he hasn't even been terse with Lenny yet. Nothing much happens for a while. Lenny flirts a bit, then someone takes a liking to him and asks him to dance. Lenny looks at Skinner who says quietly.

"I don't think so." Which sends Lenny into paroxysms of delight until Skinner explains to him in an undertone that he doesn't want Lenny getting out of sight on the bustling dance floor - it isn't wise for us to be separated at this point. Lenny pouts (again).

"Don't you feel...threatened in this place?" I ask Skinner as yet another guy brushes too close to me and fondles my butt.

"No." He replies, then the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face. "Although if I was dressed like you are I might."

"Thanks." I find myself pouting and stop quickly. It must be catching. Skinner is watching everything that goes on but without the smallest trace of shock or distaste, as if he's seen it all before. Maybe he has. Maybe after Vietnam and a long career in the serious crimes division of the FBI nothing surprises him. I must admit to feeling faintly alarmed myself though as a "side-show" is announced. A cage is lowered to the floor, containing a nearly naked young man. Another man, dressed from head to foot in rubber, opens the cage door and cracks a horsewhip around. The submissive crawls from the cage and licks the other man's shiny boots. He's hauled to his feet and tied up to a post.

"Shit I can't watch this." I murmur. Lenny shakes his head, grinning at me.

"Oh relax, honey! This is just for show. The real stuff is going on in the upstairs rooms," he says.

"What real stuff?" Skinner asks.

"You know." Lenny winks. "Should be starting just about now." He glances at his watch. "You want me to show you?"

"Yes." Skinner nods and I find myself following them both up the stairs. It's a relief to be away from the noise of the dance floor but there are different noises up here that worry me. The thud of something on human flesh for example, although there isn't much screaming, just some grunting. Lenny ushers us into a room where a man is strapped to a bench, a gag in his mouth. That explains the lack of screaming. He's being soundly beaten with a strap but he doesn't seem to be in any distress. I assume it's consensual. Skinner frowns.

"Recognize anyone from Mithras?" He asks Lenny.

Lenny looks around, shrugs. "Not yet. I'll keep an eye out."

Skinner and I watch the beating without speaking. I don't think either of us know what to say to be honest. It doesn't turn me on and he looks as expressionless as ever. I never know what he's thinking anyway. I don't think it's exactly his scene either though. Something makes him look around.

"Where's Lenny?" He asks me.

"Oh shit." Lenny has disappeared. We go back out onto the gallery and looking down on the dance floor I see Lenny gyrating with the guy who was talking to him earlier.

"Not very obedient is he?" I wisecrack to Skinner.

"Oh I'm used to that." He deadpans back meaningfully, nearly making me choke.

"Do you want to go down there and sling him over your shoulder and bring him back?" I inquire.

"Not really." He shrugs, then notices the man watching us. His eyes then skim over my shoulder and I see him stiffen. "Remember what you were saying about being bait?" He asks. I nod. "Well I think the time's come, Mulder. Why don't you go downstairs and rescue Lenny and we'll see what happens."

I'm not sure what he's seen but I nod, feeling curiously enlivened by this exchange, my heart thudding in my chest. At last - action! I set off, conscious of being watched and just get to the bottom of the stairs when my way is blocked by a tough looking guy with a scar down one cheek.

"We want a word with you," he says.

"With me?" I start to back up, only to realize that another man is blocking the stairwell. I'm trapped.

"Yeah." Without warning the guy behind me licks my neck which disgusts me and without even thinking about it I turn round and take a swing at him. My arms are grabbed by Scarface before my fist makes contact and I'm thrown over the banisters.

"Looks like you've already been in some trouble." Scarface murmurs, running a finger over my bruised jaw. "You don't want to get into any more."

"What's going on here?" I'm relieved to hear Skinner's voice.

"Nothing. Stay out of our way." Scarface snarls.

"I don't think so." Skinner pulls me off the banisters. "You okay?" He asks and I nod.

"Don't interfere." Scarface puts his face too close to Skinner's, invading his personal space. "We've taken a liking to Hotlips here." Hotlips? Ugh.

"Well you can't have him." Skinner says firmly.

"Why not?" Scarface asks menacingly, obviously expecting Skinner to back down.

"Because he belongs to me." Skinner puts a hand on my shoulder to further illustrate the point. All right this is the weird, creepy bit - that whole exchange sends a shiver down my spine. I relive that "because he belongs to me" moment several times in the next 10 seconds and each time it makes me tingle. I have no idea why.

"Oh does he?" Scarface grins. "Well I think it's time to negotiate a change of ownership, don't you?" He puts out a hand to take my arm and Skinner grabs his wrist before he can touch me.

"No. I don't." He says firmly.

"Looking for trouble?" Scarface asks.

"No. But I'm willing to hand it out if need be." Skinner out-machos the man and there's a sense of stalemate for a while. Scarface seems to consider this, then finally he nods and stands aside grudgingly to let us pass. I'm heaving a sigh of relief as we do so, when suddenly I find my arm grabbed by Scarface's accomplice as Scarface swings his fist towards Skinner's stomach. Skinner seems to be ready for this and side-steps the man neatly before swinging his own fist into his opponent's abdomen and kneeing him efficiently in the groin. The whole exchange takes place in nearly total silence and is over so quickly that I hardly have time to register it. Scarface lies moaning at Skinner's feet and I elbow the accomplice in the ribs and step over Scarface's body to catch up with my boss.

"Mission accomplished," he murmurs, glancing up at the gallery. I notice the 2 men watching us silently.

"You know - I think you're actually having fun." I comment as we cross back over to the dance floor to get Lenny.

"Are you kidding?" He almost grins. "This is the first time I've been out from behind that desk in months. I don't usually get the chance to dress up and assume a cover. Of course I'm having fun. Hotlips." And with that he charges onto the dance floor and recovers the hapless Lenny. I'm left standing there, speechless.

"You know, Lenny." Skinner says thoughtfully as he ushers back our wayward friend. "I'd be grateful if you could stay where Mulder and I can keep an eye on you. There's something going down here tonight and it could get rough. If you're with us then we can look out for you."

"You can look out for me any time." Lenny purrs seductively. Skinner smiles indulgently for a second and then the grin fades and he reaches out swiftly and wraps his hands in Lenny's harness, lifting him off the ground.

"Just do as I say, Lenny," he growls. "And then everything will be fine."

"Yes, sir." Lenny's eyes are wide with awe-struck lust as Skinner puts him back on the floor and I'm completely startled.

"You're enjoying yourself entirely too much now," I murmur to my boss.

"Not at all." He replies in a brisk undertone. "Lenny's a loose canon - but if I treat him in the right way then I'm sure he'll do everything I say. That way we can keep him safe. I don't want any civilians endangered in the course of this investigation."

"That's your excuse anyway." I murmur, feeling somehow pissed off as I return to the bar to get another drink. Don't ask me to explain my emotions at this point - I haven't got any understanding of them myself.

A tall blond guy approaches us as we stand by the bar again. I tense myself for another proposition but this guy ignores me completely and instead flings himself theatrically at my boss's feet. I think for a moment, for just one second, that Skinner is phased. He glances at Lenny who shrugs and pokes the blond guy with his foot.

"All right. You've got his attention. What is it?" Lenny asks. Blondie looks up and smiles, flashing a set of glistening white teeth.

"Master, I've come here looking for a new owner. Would you accept me, please," he asks. I splutter into my coke and Skinner shoots me a grumpy look which turns into an almost malicious semi-grin. I'm startled for a moment until I see that we are still being watched and he's obviously trying to play his part as well as he can. He leans back and looks Blondie up and down as if seriously considering the proposition.

"What can you offer me?" He asks. Blondie edges forward eagerly, his hands going to my boss's belt.

"Let me show you," he says. Skinner knocks his hands away.

"No, you'll tell me. Do you usually try to touch without being given permission first? I don't think your last master had you very well trained." He glances at Lenny over Blondie's head. Lenny gives him a surreptitious thumbs up sign. I can hear Roberts and Kendall dying of laughter in the van through the wire I'm wearing.

"Forgive me, Master." Blondie hangs his head in mock shame.

"You've blown it." I remark, gesturing with my head that he should withdraw and nudging at him with my knee. Blondie looks appealingly at Skinner who frowns at me and turns his attention back to the man at his feet.

"I'm happy with the slaves I have right now - I don't have the time or inclination to take on anyone new," he remarks. "However if that situation should change..." He shoots a meaningful glance at me and Blondie smiles and nods, getting to his feet with a sneering, smug smile in my direction and pushes past me to return to the dance floor.

"Very good!" Lenny claps his hands together gleefully. "I'm impressed. You've really got some flair for this!"

"A compliment to die for." I comment sourly, still feeling out of sorts for no reason I can put my finger on. Skinner glances at me, then grabs hold of my arm and walks me off to a quieter corner of the bar.

"Agent Mulder is there some sort of problem here I'm not aware of?" he hisses in an undertone. "Because we really need to be convincing in these roles if we want to find out any more about this Mithras group. If you can't handle this can I suggest we call in a replacement?"

"No. I'm fine. It's just this place makes me nervous," I say with a shrug. "I'm tired of getting looked at like I'm a piece of meat."

"It's just a front, Mulder." Skinner shrugs. "You've been on dozens of undercover missions before, this one is no different. Is it?" He glances at me questioningly and I shake my head.

"No. Sorry. Of course not."

"Good. I think the men we're looking for will approach us soon. We seem to have done enough to draw attention to ourselves." He jerks his head at the two men who have been watching us from the gallery and I have to agree with his assessment of the situation. From all that Lenny has told us there is nothing we can do to infiltrate the Mithras group except interest them in some way. Nobody approaches them - they make all the moves.

At that moment another side-show is announced and the theme music from the "Superman" films blares out. A well-muscled, over-endowed man makes an entrance onto the cat-walk, clad in a skin-tight superman outfit.

"Superman returns to the planet Krypton..." A voice announces. Really it's so cheesy that I have to laugh my head off. Soon "Superman" is being fawned over by a troupe of dancing slave boys and I'm so engrossed in the absurdity of this spectacle that I lose concentration for a moment and am surprised when Skinner nudges me and murmurs.

"Ready, Mulder?" I look around and see a well-dressed man approaching us. He doesn't look like any of the people here - no leather, no chains - he isn't even dressed in black. Instead he's wearing a plain gray suit and behind him are the two men who have been watching us from the gallery all evening.

"Ready." I nod.

The well-dressed man reaches us and smiles.

"Let me introduce myself. I'm Aaron Saunders," he says in a cultured English accent. He holds out his hand and Skinner takes it.

"Walter Skinner." He nods. We did discuss assuming different names but decided against it. We have however placed some fake ID's in the system so anyone running a check on us is not going to find out that we are FBI agents.

"We have business to discuss." Saunders tells him. Skinner nods.

"Yes. I think we do," he murmurs. Saunders leads us off to an upstairs room, which is relatively quiet, and the door is shut behind us. I'm glad of the wire because I'm feeling rather vulnerable without my gun. Saunders waves Skinner to an armchair. No notice is taken of me whatsoever and no chair has been provided - it's clear that I have no status with these people. I look around for a moment, wondering what to do and then Skinner makes a brief irritated gesture to the floor and I hunker down beside him, going with the role and taking the opportunity to study Saunders in more detail. He's not a particularly tall man, but he has a meaty look, which shows that he can take care of himself if need be. He has a long hooked nose and is good-looking in a sharp, hawk-like way.

"We've been interested in the way you've handled yourself here tonight." Saunders says. "We have a proposition that might interest you."

"Really?" Skinner raises a polite eyebrow.

"You've heard of the Mithras Brotherhood?" Saunders asks.

"Of course." Skinner nods.

"We first noticed the sub last night - he drew attention to himself." Saunders isn't looking at me and it takes a while before I even realize he's talking about me. "He was playing games - a bit dangerous in this sort of place."

"Yes. I think he learned his lesson." Skinner remarks, his eyes flickering over the bruise on my jaw.

"We were curious - we found him interesting but what's another pretty slave?" Saunders shrugs. "They're easily come by after all. Just take a look at the dance floor down there." He grins. "However, when he came back here again with you this evening, that was more interesting to us."

"Why is that?" Skinner asks.

"Mithras isn't just some tedious forum for macho posturing. We have specific rules - and we tend to view ourselves as "lifestyle" doms. Our subs are the same. They belong to us in every real sense of the word - dull rules about safe words and negotiation aren't a feature of our society. If a slave belongs to you, he's yours to do as you want with - so long as you're strong enough to keep him."

"Isn't that just a bit dangerous?" Skinner asks.

"Danger is the ultimate thrill, isn't it?" Saunders counters. "How much of a player are you, Mr Skinner? You have no credentials - we've never seen or heard of you on the scene before. And as for this...creature..." he casts a disparaging eye over me. "He really shouldn't have been allowed out alone."

"He wasn't." Skinner remarks. "I took care of it. Believe me." He sounds so cool and hard that I'm impressed.

"A man who can't control his own slaves has no place in our organization." Saunders frowns.

"Fox?" Skinner's hand twines itself in my hair, pulling my head back just like my cellmate last night did - which is where he obviously picked up the idea. "Tell the man about our little game."

Oh thanks! He's obviously pissed off with doing all the work here. I think fast.

"My name's Fox." I mutter. "Sometimes my master likes to hunt me. He gives me a head-start around the bars and clubs and then he comes after me. If he catches me with another man he can be very cruel... I like to leave a trail - sometimes I like to be caught. Last night I think I made too much of a commotion. My master had to bail me out from the police station. He wasn't very happy about that." In an absurd sort of way, this is partly true. Maybe that's what's so weird about all this pretending.

"How entertaining." Saunders is clearly taken with this whole idea. Maybe I have a flair for this as well! I almost wish Lenny were here to congratulate me. Skinner takes his hand out of my hair and flattens it down again. I find myself leaning into him like a cat or something, wanting to be fondled. You could put it down to trying to keep our cover as convincing as possible, but I have to say that I didn't do it consciously. Perhaps I'm starting to absorb the rules of this subculture by some sort of process of osmosis. "He's an amusing piece - classy, Mr. Skinner." Saunders muses. How flattering. "We don't see many like him. I'm sure a lot of our other members would be interested in him."

"He's not available." Skinner says warningly. "He belongs to me." Again that strange flicker inside me. It unsettles me.

"And that isn't negotiable?" Saunders asks.

"No. Absolutely not." Skinner says firmly. Saunders's eyes light up. He looks satisfied by this information.

"And the slave? What does he say? Is he happy in his current situation?" Saunders asks, looking at me. I open my mouth to speak but Skinner knocks his knee against my shoulder and interrupts me.

"He's happy if I say he is," he replies. Saunders raises an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

"Yes." Skinner nods.

"And if another man were to take an interest in him - you'd fight for him?" Saunders asks.

"Yes." Skinner nods again.

"Then I think you might find our organization to be just the sort of challenge you'd enjoy." Saunders smiles. He hands Skinner a business card. "Call me tomorrow to arrange the details - if you think you're up to the challenge that is. It may be out of your league, Mr. Skinner, although...I don't think this particular slave would still be with you now if that were the case. I think you've got the potential to be a very interesting player, Mr. Skinner. I look forward to hearing from you."

And with that, Saunders gets up and leaves the room, his two flunkies following on behind.

"A hunt around bars and clubs?" Skinner mocks with a raised eyebrow when we are alone.

"I was improvising! You left me hanging out there."

"Well it was inspired - Saunders really bought it."

"Good. Does that mean we can leave now?" I make a face.

"And there was I thinking you were having a good time..." I'm sure that's what he says, although he's walking out of the room as he talks so it's possible he says something else. Really I'm seeing a whole new disturbing side of him this evening. Or is it a disturbing side of myself I'm seeing? He seems to be simply playing his role as well as he can - staying alert, making all the right moves to get the information we require. I, on the other hand, have been freaked out by my reactions to being in this whole role-play scenario with him. I've pouted, become - what? Jealous? Sulked, brooded and felt some very strange sensations in my gut. I feel seriously worried about all this and take it out on Lenny.

"We're leaving." I grab him and drag him off the dance floor where he has resumed diddling with his leather-clad friend.

"All done then?" He asks me, looking surprised by my manner.

"Yeah. Trap set."

"A trap for who? Them or you?" He pouts and that makes me even more bad tempered for some reason.

"Just get a move on, Lenny. Skinner's waiting for us."

"And we wouldn't want to keep our master waiting. Who knows how he'd punish us..." Lenny begins flippantly. Something inside me just goes ballistic. I reach out and grab Lenny's arm.

"Just shut up. Shut up about all this stuff. I don't care what sort of fantasy you're creating about Skinner but none of it is true. He's not gay, he's not a dom, he most certainly is not into this whole alternative lifestyle stuff and you stand no chance whatsoever of becoming his house-boy, or slave boy or whatever else you've gotten into your head. Understood, Lenny?"

Lenny is staring at me.

"I was just fooling around, Mulder," he says quietly. "I can tell the difference between real life and a sex game. I think you're the one who has trouble with it."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I turn on him angrily.

"Oh, Mulder, you're not that stupid." Lenny shrugs. "I've watched you with Skinner - you do your damnedest to draw attention to yourself. You behave badly or brilliantly or both and you just push and push at that guy. He must have the patience of a saint to put up with you. He must be tempted to just throw you over his knee and spank you sometimes!" Lenny grins.

"Are you saying that I have some sort of sick fantasy about my boss?" I demand furiously.

"Who are you calling sick? I think you'd be sick NOT to have some sort of fantasy about that walking hunk of testosterone. He's got the soul of a top even if he doesn't act it out - the fact that he isn't into this stuff is partly what makes him so attractive. The best tops are demanding and strict but they're protective and caring as well. The divine Skinner just exudes these qualities and he's not even role-playing. Why wouldn't you respond to that?"

"Because I'm not a goddamn fairy! I'm straight!" I explode, pushing Lenny against a wall, clenching my fingers tightly around his arms.

"Some things are just primeval. All that alpha male stuff. You're into all this clever psycho-crap, Mulder. You figure it out." Lenny is shivering. "Please, Mulder, you're hurting me," he whimpers.

"Well why not? You like to be hurt don't you?" I say nastily, slamming his head back into the wall.

"Not like this. Not by you. This isn't like you, Mulder."

"You don't know anything about me. You're wrong about me." I snarl, digging my fingers into his wrists even harder. I feel two hands descend on my shoulders and I'm propelled back forcibly away from Lenny.

"Gentlemen. Time to be going." Skinner says urbanely, ushering us both towards the exit, a hand on each of our shoulders. I don't know what he overheard, or what the guys in the van have made of this exchange and I don't much care at this point. All I want to do is get out, get away, run as fast as I can, find an X File, grab Scully and put a lot of distance between me and this whole scenario. I can't do any of these things so I sink into a grim sulk instead, just daring anybody to talk to me. They get the message and the ride back to the Hoover building takes place in a tense silence. Skinner decides to defuse the situation slightly by dropping Lenny off on the way, but there's no escape for me. We have to debrief - there's no getting out of it, so I struggle to push all this turmoil to the back of my mind and concentrate on what we have to do to catch the killer.

"Why don't we get changed and meet in my office in about half an hour." Skinner suggests quietly, addressing me as we enter the building. I nod tersely and disappear to the basement, relieved to be alone. Scully's left me a message.

"Hope you and the boys had fun on your night out J Think of poor me, sitting at home writing a report on my laptop - next time make it a case a girl can join in on!" It should cheer me up but it doesn't. I don't think anything would right now. I screw it up and throw it at the wall, savagely. Attention seeking behavior? Me? I resist the implications of what Lenny said to me, pulling that revolting vest over my head, putting on my nice, normal shirt. Real Life settles back around me, familiar, comfortable, safe..."I can tell the difference between real life and a sex game...I think you're the one who has trouble with it..." Lenny's words echo endlessly in my head. Lifestyle doms, Saunders called the Mithras circle. With lifestyle subs in tow. "You're a sub even if you don't know it yet..." that guy in the drunk tank said. I don't want this going on in my head, I don't want these feelings stirring inside me. Have I manipulated my relationship with Skinner to give me a rush without even knowing it? Have I really been pushing him all these years just to get some perverse sexual thrill?

"Mulder. It's been an hour. You didn't answer your phone." Skinner is standing in the doorway looking at me with some concern. I didn't even notice that the phone had been ringing. "What's going on, Mulder?" He asks, coming into the room. "You've been on edge all evening. Are you brewing some masterstroke of analysis that will help us catch this killer?"

"I wish I was." I shrug. At least he's given me a simple motive for my behavior. Has he noticed the way I've been behaving since I've known him though? Has he ever read anything more sinister into it? I feel self-conscious, like I've been put under a spotlight and I'm analyzing every move I make now. It's inhibiting.

"What is it then?" His concern is touching. "You've seen worse places than that club, surely?" He asks.

"What? Well, you gotta admit that place was weird."

"True." He shrugs. I wonder suddenly if he's overheard the tape of my conversation with Lenny. I can't stop myself flushing. I notice that he's changed back into his shirt and tie and I can see why Lenny was attracted to him. For the first time I feel as if my eyes have been opened, as if I've been fighting something that's been in my head for as long as I've known him. Maybe something that's always been inside me but I've denied for a long time. Lenny's lifestyle doesn't appeal to me at all, but the idea of belonging to Skinner, the memory of his hand in my hair, kneeling at his feet - why does that all seem so right all of a sudden? This realization is matched almost immediately by the knowledge that it doesn't matter if Lenny is right because Skinner is not going to be interested. If he knew what was going on in my head he'd be revolted, disgusted. As I am. I hate myself.

"I was thinking it all through," I say briskly, shrugging off this introspection. "We have to find these Mithras guys. We have to infiltrate the group and..."

"Not so fast, Mulder. I think that's far too risky. We've come up with some facts on Saunders, which the team are going through right now. I'd rather go and knock on some doors in the time-honored fashion than throw either you or me into the lion's den."

"You won't find anything." I tell him, sure that I'm right. "Every single one of these Mithras guys will be clean - not so much as a driving violation. And they'll go very quiet on you, clam up completely. They'll close down, ship out and then this will start all over again somewhere else a few months down the line. But by then we'll have lost our leads."

"You seem very sure of that." Skinner frowns.

"I am. It's just a hunch. My hunches aren't usually wrong." I inform him. He sighs, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes tiredly. I realize he has probably had as little sleep as I have in the past 24 hours.

"Well - I'm in no condition to make this decision tonight," he informs me. "I'll leave the team working on it and think about it tomorrow. I suggest you go home and get some rest as well. If we do end up having to continue with this charade then we'll need our wits about us. I've a feeling that our Mr Saunders will prove to be a fast worker."

He nods to me and leaves the room and I just gaze after him, wondering if I'm crazy or stupid or both to suggest continuing with what he calls "this charade". A charade that is having a serious effect on my mental well-being, a charade that has revealed to me a darkness inside that I never even suspected existed before. I should be running away from it as fast as I can, but instead I'm throwing myself right into the middle of it. I can't keep doubting myself and second guessing my motives all the time - he's right, I need some rest.

END OF PART ONE.

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TITLE: Subterfuge 2/4  
AUTHOR: Xanthe  
RATING: NC17. Mulder/Skinner  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Skinner go undercover in the gay S/M underworld in order to solve a case, and find out some surprising things about themselves.  
SPOILER: Some general references. Nothing specific.  
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me but to CC who wouldn't ever do anything this silly with them although if he did I'd be his slave forever and that's saying something, frankly. I don't make any money out of this (yeah, like people would pay me for this stuff!)  
Thanks to Holmes for the excellent beta reading and title.

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Subterfuge  
Part Two

By the following afternoon I've convinced myself that none of it ever happened. I can do this occasionally. It's my burying my head in the sand trick and I save it only for the most distressing circumstances. Hell, you know me - normally I'm more of a dig it up, rip it up and tear it down before I know why it was put there in the first place kind of guy but this time it's different. I want to bury these memories as quickly and deeply as I can. I just want to get through this case and then lie low for a long, long time.

Skinner is already at work, sitting at his desk as usual, presiding over another team meeting and, much to my dismay, Lenny has been invited back. He isn't dressed up today - instead he's in an old pair of jeans and a faded sweatshirt and - most noticeably - he isn't flirting with anyone. He looks pale and tired. He gives me a wary look as I enter the room and I try a forced smile which he bravely tries to return but without much heart. Lenny never was one to bear a grudge. I feel a wave of guilt about the whole thing and long to apologize but it isn't appropriate right now.

Skinner gives me a reproving glance for being late and I almost miss the nudge of glee that Lenny would have given me yesterday.

"Thanks for giving up your time to help us again, Lenny." Skinner smiles and Lenny nods and shrugs. Both Skinner and Lenny could be from a completely different species compared to the men I was with at the club last night. Skinner is businesslike, Lenny is withdrawn and as for me, well I don't change I guess - maybe that's the problem. I certainly start out intending to behave well.

"I've been reading your report about the ancient Mithras cult, Mulder." Skinner glances at me. "And I find it disturbing. In your initial briefing with me you neglected to mention that the cult held an initiation ceremony involving being drenched in bull's blood."

"Well it did in Roman times." I object. "There's no reason to suppose that Saunders's gang do the same. You don't see that many bulls roaming around in DC after all." I point out flippantly.

"No. You don't." Skinner stares at me for a long moment. "However I still find the ritualistic element disturbing."

"You aren't going to follow up on Saunders's offer are you?" I wish that didn't sound like an accusation, like I disagree with his decision but the truth is that I do.

"I have no intention of placing you, or, for that matter, myself, in the hands of these people without having some more information."

"You won't get any more information unless we go in there." I object.

"It's not up for general debate, Mulder," he states tersely. "Lenny has been filling me in on the sort of organization we are dealing with and the sort of treatment that we, or more specifically, you, can expect if we take this cover any further. I am not satisfied that I could ensure your safety."

"Like Lenny said, you'd be the only one at risk." I point out and immediately wish I hadn't. It's like accusing the man of cowardice and I can honestly say that there isn't any question of that ever being true about him. He may have his faults but being a big wuss isn't one of them. A tense atmosphere has descended on the room and Skinner gives me another of his cool stares.

"Mulder, I've made my decision," he says firmly. "I am unable to assess the risk to myself in pursuing this venture, but the risk to you is obvious. Saunders told us that these people do not operate on a system of consent. Have you thought the implications of that through?" He's right - I haven't thought this through. I just want to solve the case, to leap in as usual and think later. Yeah, all right, it's a failing of mine. I admit it.

"So how are we going to proceed?" I demand.

"I've spoken to Saunders and..."

"You've called him already?" I interrupt accusingly.

"Yes, Mulder. I've called him already." Skinner raps back tersely. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Lenny watching me quietly and I feel angry with myself and with him without knowing why. "I asked him if we would still have a deal if you weren't part of the equation."

"And he said no." I predict, accurately enough although I'm stunned but not surprised that he'd walk into the lion's den alone. A spasm of annoyance at the situation passes across Skinner's face.

"That's right."

"Look, there's no big deal here. We go in, we take a van load of back-up and we're wired. At the first sign of any trouble, you give us the order to pull out. I don't see the problem." I say.

"Lenny." Skinner gestures with his hand and Lenny darts a glance at me.

"Nobody knows where the Mithras circle meets. Nobody ever talks about what goes on within the circle, but one thing I do know - these guys are rich and they're smart. They'd have the wires off you in nano-seconds. And if you take any back up they'd detect it, check you out, and blow your cover before you even get anywhere near their base. If you go in, you go in alone." Lenny shrugs. "And honestly, Mulder, I wouldn't recommend it. You really, really don't want to end up as one of their boys. Trust me - even I wouldn't like it and that's saying something. I think they're borderline crazy, which is fine for them, but I like my risks just a little more calculated."

"So do I." Skinner says grimly. "And my decision is final, Mulder." He sees me open my mouth to protest and glares at me. I close it again.

"Mr Skinner is right, Mulder." Lenny says softly. "Try something else. There must be another way of nailing this murderer."

"I can't think of one." I shrug.

"We'll just have to find one." Skinner says, addressing the room at large. "Lenny, thanks for coming in again." He holds out his hand and Lenny takes it quietly. He looks at Skinner with quiet respect, none of the drooling adulation of yesterday. That's when I notice the bruises on Lenny's wrists, the ones I gave him last night and I'm angry with myself and Lenny and, irrationally, with Skinner too. Lenny leaves the room and I know I can't leave it like this so I make an excuse and follow him out.

"Lenny!" I call him back - he's fast disappearing down the corridor. He turns and stands there defensively, looking apprehensive.

"I don't want any trouble, Mulder," he says nervously.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. About last night. That place just gave me the creeps. I don't know what came over me. No hard feelings?" I hold out my hand and he ignores it.

"Oh Mulder, you just go ahead and dig your own grave. I don't want anything to do with it," he says.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't follow this up, Mulder." He tells me quietly. "Because if you do you'll find out things you don't want to know."

"You're wrong about me, Lenny." I shake my head.

"No, Mulder. You're wrong about you." He shrugs and finally takes my still outstretched hand. "Good luck, buddy. You're going to need it." He smiles sadly and turns to leave. I have no idea what it is he thinks I'm going to do. I have no intention of disobeying Skinner so I'm sure he can't mean that. I watch, puzzled, as he walks off down the corridor.

I don't have any time to think it through because at that moment Kendall charges into the corridor, closely followed by Roberts and they both push past me.

"What's going on?" I turn around to find Skinner following on behind, walking briskly. I trot to keep up with him as he strides down the corridor.

"Another murder. A floater." He mutters grimly.

This is the first time I've actually seen one of the corpses and believe me, it isn't a pretty sight. The guy can't have been in the water long - the corpse isn't bloated or discolored enough but he's still a gut churning spectacle. He's covered in bruises and he has the same symbols carved into his flesh as the other murder victims had. He's also had his genitalia removed which makes me feel sick. I've seen a lot of unpleasant sights but I don't suppose there's a guy alive who wouldn't wince when faced with evidence of such a brutal and total castration. I ask Skinner to let Scully perform the autopsy, because frankly, I've never met anyone who knows their way around a dead body better than she does and he agrees, obviously sharing my opinion on that one. Also of course, it gives me a good excuse to hang around the morgue while she's working, to catch any of her insights.

"Cause of death?" I linger, gazing at the pale corpse, his brown eyes wide open and fixed, wondering what was the last sight that he saw.

"Blood loss." She looks straight at me.

"Blood loss?" I glance down at the body. There aren't any obvious wounds apart from the superficial cuts and missing genitalia.

"He was castrated before death." She informs me bluntly. "He died from the bleeding. It might have taken some time. He'd have been in agony, poor bastard."

"Shit."

I had assumed that the mutilation of the body had taken place after death as part of the crazed ritual the killer was carrying out. However Scully's findings indicated that all the physical injuries - the bruising, carving, everything, had taken place while the man was still alive. This sickened me - it seemed so calculatedly evil, designed to inflict the maximum amount of pain on a man who was going to die anyway. The killer could have put him out of his misery and shot a bullet through his head or strangled him. To just leave him to die in this way was chilling.

I know this whole investigation has been a joke to me in a way, but now that's changed. Now I just want to catch the killer and put him away for a very long time.

I return to my apartment to have a warm shower, to wash off the smell and chill of the morgue but when I get there I find I have a visitor. Aaron Saunders is sitting in one of my chairs, drinking a cup of coffee out of one of my cups and reading one of my books.

"Interesting." He holds the book up as I enter cautiously.

"How did you get in here?"

"Without too much trouble." He shrugs.

"That figures." I've lost count of the number of times my apartment has been broken into over the years.

"You have a number of books on psychology, Fox." He puts the book down.

"I'm doing a postgrad in it." I tell him, wondering whether it's worth lying as he might have already figured out the truth. But I don't think so. He's still looking at me like I belong at someone's feet. I'm sure that if he knew I was FBI he'd be taking a different approach.

"You're a student then?" He's looking at me keenly.

"Yeah."

"So - clever as well as pretty. And how do you pay for all this?" He glances around the apartment.

"I have a...patron." I smile.

"Ah, the delightfully protective Mr Skinner." He muses on that for a moment, still looking at me.

"What do you want, Saunders?" I ask him bluntly.

"I had a conversation with your master earlier today."

"Yeah. So?" I shrug, picking up the coffee cup and returning it to the kitchen, chucking the remains of the drink away.

"You're not interested in what plans your master might have for you?" He asks, remaining seated, manipulating me into returning to the other room.

"No. He can do what he likes. He's in charge." I shrug.

"Very good. Although I sense that you're not that easily controlled. Don't get me wrong - I like subs with attitude. The fact that you think so highly of your master shows that he must be very, very good at handling you."

"Yeah, he has his moments." I grin putting the book Saunders was reading back into its rightful place on the shelf.

"Did you know that he turned down an opportunity for you to join us?" I stiffen, wondering what sort of a game he's playing. "Ah, you didn't know then." He murmurs, misreading the signals.

"No."

"Poor sulky boy. You're put out now." Saunders purrs at me. I decide to play along.

"Well...I found your proposition last night interesting." I perch on the couch and do my best to look tempted.

"I'm sure you did. Your master however, had reservations. He's a very interesting man. We did some digging on him."

"Oh yeah?" The fake I.D.s we arranged were sophisticated enough and he hasn't had much time to do too much "digging" but even so, I wouldn't put it past this guy to have found the truth.

"Yes. A wealthy businessman with a taste for fine wines and antiques. Almost a cliche."

"Oh there's nothing cliched about him. He's unique."

"Which is why we wanted him to join us. However - although I'll admit he's our first interest, we do also have an interest in you. We'd have preferred to have the two of you as a package, but we'd be sorry to lose both of you."

"What are you suggesting?"

He beckons with his finger. "Why don't you come here?"

I hesitate for a second but then obey, kneeling at his feet which is where he's pointing. He looks down at me for a long time, running his finger along my face, down over my nose, lingering on my mouth. It feels strange to be submitting to this in my apartment, to be pretending to be someone, something else when all my everyday life is sprawled around me, but I want to find out what he has planned and it doesn't hurt me to put up with this light caress.

"You're hot. Wanton." He grins, pushing his finger inside my mouth a little way. I'm tempted to clamp my teeth down on it but instead play along, sucking on his finger and teasing him with my eyes. He smiles, then his mood changes abruptly and he lashes out, knocking me backwards and grabbing hold of my hair, pulling my head back so that my neck is exposed. "Mr Skinner isn't the only who can keep you satisfied, Fox," he whispers, his finger scratching at my throat. I struggle to breathe. "Join us. We'll make you very happy. This is the only choice you'll ever have to make. After that you'll be owned as you never have been before. Unable to resist, unable to say no. We'll punish you hard and reward you well. Don't worry - the only danger you'll be in will be from your own desires. We'll take care of them. Daily. How does that sound?"

"Pretty...good..." I manage to rasp out while I'm shrieking "frigging sick, Weirdo" inside my head.

"I thought so." He lets go of my hair, sits me up, strokes me fondly. "Come with me, Fox. Come with me now."

"Now?" A dozen thoughts are rushing through my mind. I'm playing for time.

"Now. Or never." He gives me a pleasant smile. "If I give you time you'll call your master and he'll talk you out of it. So it's a one off. Come with me now or you'll never hear from me again."

I weigh this. I believe him. If I turn him down he'll disappear back into the sewers as rats have a tendency to do. I know Skinner said that we shouldn't go in and I remember Lenny's advice, the way he seemed so sure I'd ignore Skinner's orders. I know it's stupid to go, I know it's dangerous and I could end up getting hurt, badly. I know all this but even so I find myself nodding. I can't think about all the reasons why I shouldn't go. All I can think about is that poor murdered bastard, bleeding to death from his own castration wounds. I know Saunders has something to do with all this - I'm convinced of it. I'm not sure that he's the killer by any means, but the answer lies within the Mithras Brotherhood. Of that I'm certain. As I get up and follow him out of my apartment, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am in deep shit and that if Saunders or one of his friends don't kill me then Skinner sure as hell will.

So, I'm a walking corpse as I follow Saunders out to his car. He has a chauffeur, of course, and the windows of his limo are heavily tinted. He opens the door, courteously and I slip into the luxurious depths of that car knowing I'm going into a place where I'll be far more of a victim than I ever was at Krypton. The words he spoke last night come back to me. No negotiation, no safe words. I'm regretting my decision already.

"Don't worry." He smiles at me, sensing my apprehension and reaches forward to touch my knee affectionately. "We love our slaves very much, Fox. You'll be taken care of. This is going to be beyond your wildest dreams."

More like my worst nightmare I think to myself, wondering, not for the first time, if I've got a death-wish.

The drive takes a couple of hours but I can't see where we're going through the tinted glass. Saunders engages me in a little light conversation and then ignores me completely, taking out a brief case and working his way through some business papers. I feel like a kid out in daddy's big car, watching important daddy do his work. Saunders is probably in his late forties or early fifties and I notice the hard toned flesh under his shirt - the same look that Skinner has. That thought makes me uncomfortable and I loosen my tie, undoing the top button on my shirt collar.

"You're dressed formally. We'll see that you change into something more comfortable when we arrive." Saunders smiles. If this is meant to be reassuring it backfires. I spend the next half an hour wondering if "more comfortable" means naked or trussed up in a leather thong or something equally humiliating. I can't believe that I've been this stupid and on several occasions I'm on the verge of screaming at him to stop the car, but I sense it's already too late for that.

We finally pull up and the door is opened for me. I blink, expecting sunshine, but instead find myself in what appears to be some sort of mineshaft.

"Welcome to The Bat Cave." I murmur, feeling uneasy. "Look..." I turn to Saunders. "I think I might have changed my mind."

"Nonsense." He smiles at me. "Come on, Fox. It's all been decided now." He puts a hand around my shoulders and ushers me towards a dark, musty smelling corridor. "Besides...how will it look to your master if you've already left before he shows up?"

"What?" I twist in his grasp to stare at him and he laughs.

"Well of course I left him a message telling him to wait in your apartment. I'll send a car to pick him up when he calls me. Why so surprised?" He closes my open jaw with his hand. "This is your normal modus operandi isn't it? You like to be hunted, he likes to hunt. You run off, he finds you and punishes you - you told me so last night. You can't really think you're our main interest. Submissives like you are easily found, pretty and amusing though you are. No, Mr Skinner is the fish we want to catch and you're the perfect bait to bring him to us. Thank you, Fox." He laughs again and my heart sinks.

I've been a bigger idiot than usual. Whatever danger I am in is nothing compared to what he's going to be in if he follows me. He might not, he's not stupid, he must realize it'll be a trap...but even as I think that, I know he'll come after me. It's just who and what he is. I think of that man we found in the Potomac, then I think of Skinner washed up, dead and mutilated because of me and my stomach churns so much that I want to throw up here and now. I promise myself that I'll get him out of here safely no matter what it costs me and what I have to endure. I have to work hard to hold onto that thought during the next few days.

Saunders takes me to what he charmingly refers to as "the slave-pen". This whole place seems to have been dug out of a series of caves, although once we reach the main nexus of the structure the corridors are brightly lit and more welcoming than The Bat Cave. The slave-pen is a big room, containing bunks and several half-naked young men. Saunders beckons one over and kisses him affectionately. The man gazes back adoringly.

"Nick, this is Fox. Get him washed and dressed properly and then bring him along to the library after dinner. We'll want to have some fun with him later." Fun? I don't like the sound of that. "Fox - Nick is my own personal slave. He'll take good care of you." Saunders smiles at me, tousles my hair and then leaves. Nick hands me some soap and a towel and shows me over to an adjacent room containing some showers and urinals.

"You're his personal slave?" I ask and Nick gives a wide, proud smile. He's tall and dark haired, with a sharp, angular profile and stunning green eyes.

"Yeah. Do you have a master or are you going to be communal property?" He asks which is probably one of the most surreal questions I've ever been asked in my time.

"Um, no, I have a master."

"You won't sleep down here then I expect. I don't usually - only when Aaron's away. When he's here then I'm allowed to sleep at the foot of his bed." He gives a weird dreamy smile as if this is the height of slave boy ambition. Maybe it is - what the hell do I know?

I notice that all the men in the slave-pen are dressed only in tight, faded denim jeans and nothing else. They're barefoot and bare-chested and after I've washed up, that is what Nick presents to me by way of clothing.

"Everybody dresses like this?" I ask Nick.

"Nearly everybody." He shrugs. "Except for those whose masters have special costumes for them and those in the Zone."

"The Zone?" I pull on the jeans, noticing, without surprise, that underwear doesn't seem to be part of the outfit. I hate being dressed like this. It makes me feel like such a bimbo. I want to walk around with my arms crossed over my bare chest and is it really necessary for these jeans to be so tight-fitting?

"The punishment zone. You don't want to know what goes on in there." He smirks.

"Tell me." I catch hold of his arm, urgently. I need to find out all I can about this place before Skinner shows.

"Don't even begin to think about the Zone as being somewhere you want to end up." Nick makes a face. "When we first get here most of us think it sounds...well you know, appealing! Trust me, it isn't. If you're good then they'll whip you nicely and you'll enjoy it. If you're bad they'll take you to the Zone and torture you half to death. Most people don't feel the need to disobey them again. There is nothing erotic about the Zone. It's a threat - pure and simple, to keep us in line. Now you do as you're told, serve them well and let them do whatever they like with you and you'll be fine. Hey - that's not so hard." He grins, noticing the worry in my eyes. "We like serving after all. It's why we're here isn't it?"

"Yeah." I can't even force a smile. I find myself facing the very real possibility that I might be raped before the night is through. Skinner was right - I shouldn't be here. He was right. I was wrong. Simple as that.

Nick gives me some food, which I can barely touch I'm so freaked. Then I'm escorted to the library, which is a huge room with plush armchairs. All the men here are dressed soberly, normally. In fact, if you ignore the cavernous appearance of the place and the huge post with manacles hanging ominously from it in the center of the room, you could almost imagine that you were meeting with the Consortium or any other group of middle aged, power-crazed weirdos. Jeez, how many organizations like this are there out there! The men are all sitting around drinking cups of coffee and flicking through newspapers or books. There's a huge, old oak table in the room and there aren't any other slaves here. My entrance doesn't attract much attention either. I stand there helplessly for a moment, abandoned by Nick who's been told to leave. After a few minutes Saunders finally rescues me, beckoning me over and waiting expectantly until I realize that I'm supposed to kneel. I'm not eager to make an acquaintance with the Zone just yet, or with that whipping post, so I do what's expected of me. Saunders looks around the room and clears his throat.

"Gentlemen. We have a new recruit. This is Fox." People glance in my direction and a couple of the men venture over to take a closer look like we're at a cattle auction or something. I fully expect them to peel back my lips and inspect my teeth but for the most part they seem content with just looking.

"Very pretty. Who does he belong to?" Someone asks.

"Well..." Saunders leans back with a cruel smile on his lips. "At the moment, I would say that technically he's a communal slave - available to anybody, although we are hoping that his true master will be along to reclaim him shortly, aren't we, Fox?" He kneads his hand into my neck in some revolting approximation of a massage.

"Yeah." I shudder, hoping that if he does come after me Skinner has brought the whole "team" with him, fully armed to the teeth with the most sophisticated modern weaponry the FBI budget can purchase. Hell, nukes wouldn't be too much to ask for under these circumstances would they?

"I think you'll find Fox here...intriguing." Saunder murmurs in that clear cut English accent of his. There's always an English guy in these secret organizations isn't there? The Consortium has one too. I just hope Mithras doesn't also have a guy chain-smoking his way through some Morley's. Then I'll know I'm in trouble.

"Bring him over here." A voice from the other side of the room commands. Saunders gives me a little shove and one of the other men leans forward and grabs hold of my arm, pushing me across the room. I'm on the verge of taking a swing at him when I catch sight of that whipping post and change my mind. I'm pushed down on my knees next to a pair of shiny riding boots and look up to find myself face to face with this saturnine looking guy who could have come straight from a day's hunting. That makes me shiver when I remember my story about the "fox-hunt" last night. He's got short, cropped dark hair and a flat, boxer's nose that has clearly been broken couple of times. He's wearing jodhpurs and a polo-neck and, most alarmingly, he's got a riding crop in his hands. I stop struggling and suddenly go very still. "Your name is Fox?" He puts the tip of the riding crop under my chin and makes me look at him. "How amusing."

"My mom thought so." I shrug. I don't even see the riding crop move but I sure as hell feel it land on my bare shoulder.

"Don't talk without permission," he hisses and I lose it, throwing myself at him and hardly feeling the next blow of the crop as he fends me off. Someone grabs my shoulders and I find myself lifted up and thrown down on the huge oak table. I'm wriggling around, trying to fight but there are way too many of these guys and I'm soon a panting, struggling wreck.

"Really, Fox." Saunders's voice. "I know I said I like subs with attitude but this is taking things a little too far. There are serious penalties for striking one of your masters, you know."

"He isn't my master." I growl. "None of you bastards is. Now let me go."

Someone takes hold of my hair and crashes my head down on the table.

"Manners, Fox." Saunders says. "You'll address us as 'sir' at all times. Or Master. I can see it's going to be fun breaking you in. Now, Matt, he's new to us so I don't think you need be too severe." He nods his head at the riding crop guy and my arms are suddenly pulled out in front of me. I can feel someone holding my legs down and the next thing I know there's a hissing sound and a blaze of fire runs down my back. I can hear myself scream and curse but it doesn't do any good and another few blows from that riding crop rain down on me. It hurts like hell and he doesn't let up, crashing that crop down on my shoulders hard, several times. I'm not giving in though - I'm still trying to struggle and they're having a hard time holding me down.

"Fantastic." Matt murmurs. "Look at the way he moves. Look at that ass." I feel his hands caressing my butt and now I'm totally freaked out, screaming at the top of my voice.

"If you touch me, you bastard I swear I'll kill you. Just fuck off, fuck off or I'll fucking murder you..."

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Saunders glancing at his watch and then at Matt.

"If you want him, Matt, then by all means take him." Saunders smiles. "He is very tempting. That ass, as you say..." Saunders strokes my head fondly. "Matt has taken a liking to you, Fox, and in the absence of your master you have nobody to protect you from his attentions. I suggest you keep still and submit." He nods at Matt and I go ballistic, struggling so hard that I finally manage to get free, sliding onto the floor and making a run for the door. Matt grabs me by the waist and slams me back down over the table, bending me over it, his hands on my jeans, tearing at them to undo them. Nobody else is interfering now - it must be another of the quaint rules of this place. This is between the charming Matt and myself and they're all enjoying the show except Saunders who has disappeared in the direction of the door. There is no way I'm going to make it easy for this bastard who's trying to rape me. With one hand I manage to keep my jeans closed and with the other I'm kicking out at him. He's having trouble holding me down and he seems to have dispensed with the riding crop for which I suppose I should be grateful. I can feel his hands pawing at my shoulders and the weight of his body pinning me onto the table when suddenly a strange silence descends on the room, followed by a hiss of anger and a snarl of rage. Matt is jerked off me and I hear the satisfying sound of his face being mashed by someone's fist. A big hand grabs me by the neck and swings me under a muscular arm, shielding me from any further attacks.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Skinner bellows.

It was a set-up.

"Congratulations, Mr Skinner, on your timely arrival." Saunders says smoothly, helping the bleeding Matt to his feet.

"Don't play games with me, Saunders." Skinner is angrier than I've ever seen him before in my life and the arm he's got around my neck is nearly strangling me. "I told you last night - he's mine. Nobody touches him."

"Quite so. And if you recall I asked you if you'd be prepared to fight for him. Oh I know, you put on a little show at Krypton but I needed to make sure that wasn't an act." Saunders smiles. "I wouldn't want to waste our time otherwise. Some men enjoy watching other men with their slaves - it turns them on. Such men have no place in Mithras. We're a different style of organization. We just wanted to be sure that you'd fit in. Although I have to say that we hadn't anticipated the attachment your slave would show to you, or the fight he'd put up to preserve himself for your exclusive use. That was most touching." Saunders gives another of those creepy smiles and reaches out a finger to touch my face. Skinner knocks it away, hissing again but this only serves to make Saunders's grin even wider. "Welcome to Mithras, Mr Skinner. We're delighted to have you." Saunders holds out his hand, which Skinner ignores. "I'm sure that once you've settled in, you'll come to enjoy your time with us." Saunders says, seemingly oblivious to the insult. "In the meantime, please let me show you to your room."

Skinner keeps his hand on my neck the whole way along those corridors. He doesn't let go until Saunders has opened the door to our room and informed us that breakfast is served at 10am and a slave will be sent to show us the way to the dining room tomorrow morning. Then Skinner shoves me into the room, slams the door shut and kicks it hard with his foot. I've never seen him so out of control before and frankly it's scary. Both of us hear the click as a key is turned in the lock and we realize we are trapped.

"Fucking bastards." Skinner storms. He stands there for a moment, breathing heavily, struggling to get himself under control. I'm not sure what to say under the circumstances but I open my mouth to make some smart comment anyway. He fixes me with a glare.

"Mulder, unless the next words that come out of your mouth are 'sorry for disobeying you, sir' I suggest you keep it closed." He growls. I shut my mouth again and he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "You are unbelievable, Mulder. Unbe-fucking-lievable."

We both glance around the room, taking in the comfortable furnishings, the door to the en-suite bathroom, the double bed. Last but not least, our eyes travel at the same time to the open door of a cabinet full of whips, chains and other strange and mysterious devices whose uses I can only guess at. "Like I need the goddamn temptation," Skinner snarls, going over to the cabinet and slamming the door shut to hide the contents. "All right, Mulder." He takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his head, exhaling loudly. "Fill me in." He sits down on the end of the bed and looks at me expectantly.

"Well, I arrived back at my apartment to find Saunders already there..." I begin. He looks up sharply.

"You were kidnapped?" He asks hopefully. It's tempting. I mean really, really tempting but I'm strong, I can resist.

"Well, not exactly, no."

He sighs. "No. How stupid of me. Go on."

"He told me they were interested in me. He said that they didn't need you."

"How flattering. And you believed him?"

"Yes. Sorry. I didn't realize it was a trick."

"And what? He asked you to come here and you just agreed?"

"I suppose so, yes." I murmur, trying to keep the sullen tone out of my voice. "It all made sense at the time. And I'd just come back from the morgue - Scully told me about how that guy died. I wanted to find out what was going on here. I didn't mean for you to be dragged in after me. I um, don't suppose there's back-up on the way?"

"No." Skinner shakes his head. "Scully tried to call you. When she couldn't get a reply she went to your apartment and found that note from Saunders. I called him and he sent a car to pick me up. The driver lost the tail I put on us and changed us into a different car half way along the route. We're well and truly on our own, Mulder. Shit what happened to your clothes?" My clothing, or more accurately, my lack of clothing, finally dawns on him.

"Oh, guess." I make a face. "This is what all the best dressed slave boys about town are wearing."

"Stunning. Are the bruises the latest in slave boy fashion accessories as well or did you manage to upset someone already in the few hours of your stay so far?"

"That was Matt." I realize that my shoulders are covered in some nasty welts. "He was the guy you plastered to the carpet. Thank you for that by the way."

"Yes, well, standing by and watching people being raped never was a favorite hobby of mine. Particularly agents in my charge." He mutters. I notice he's flushing slightly as he remembers his reaction to my earlier jeopardy and I wonder what that's all about. Perhaps the whole thing embarrasses him. I remember the way he was practically spitting with rage and the feel of his arm around my neck as he protected me from those guys. It's an embarrassingly pleasant memory. I wish closing my eyes would shut it out but it doesn't, it just makes me remember all the little details - the ones I hardly had time to register while he was, quite literally, saving my ass. The sound of his breathing, the incoherent rage in his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and the smell of him...shit. He's getting up, taking a look around the room and I suddenly wish I had more clothes on. I also realize, for the first time, that my shoulders damn well hurt.

"Well, now we're here, I suppose we'd better find out what's going on," he says with a sigh. "I suggest we continue with these roles with that in mind."

"Okay." I shrug, checking out the bathroom which has a huge bath big enough for two and a shower as well. A large supply of condoms and lubricant are stashed in a cupboard which isn't surprising. There's also a first aid kit next to the towels which, given the contents of that cabinet in the bedroom, seems like a sensible item to find. I'd like to put some gel on my shoulders but I can't reach and there's no way, NO WAY, I'm asking him to help. I don't want him touching me - god knows how I might react. That's the freaky thing about all this - not knowing what I'm feeling or what I want. I could kill Lenny for putting these doubts in my head. I return to the bedroom and sit down on the one armchair in the room.

"Mulder." Skinner undoes his tie and starts unbuttoning his shirt. I try and find something fascinating in the room to look at, but there just isn't anything more fascinating than the sight of him undressing. I try to reason that, hey, we're guys and guys always just undress without giving a damn about other guys seeing their bodies but it doesn't work. I want to see his body. I want to see if it arouses me. He carries on, matter of factly unbuttoning, totally oblivious to my interest. "I'd appreciate it if you could keep your temper under control and stay out of trouble. I can't rescue you every five minutes and I can't keep tabs on you 24 hours a day. Don't do something stupid as soon as my back is turned. I, um, really don't know how I'd react if they...oh shit. You know what I mean. Please don't provoke them, Mulder." He takes his shirt off and puts it away tidily in the wardrobe. "And please remember your status here. Remember all those rules and codes that Lenny taught us and just live the part. I'll do my best to do the same. That way we might at least stand a chance of getting out of here alive. Remember what the alternative is..."

"Yeah - you end up at the bottom of the Potomac and I end up as communal property in the slave-pen." I murmur.

"Exactly." He sits down on the end of the bed and undoes his shoes, slipping them off, then his socks which he neatly rolls into a ball and slips inside his shoes. He reaches for his belt...Shit!

"There's something I haven't told you." I blurt, attempting to distract myself.

"Yes?" He glances up, unzipping his fly. I try and keep my eyes fixed firmly on his face.

"I was just the bait they used to attract you here. They're not really interested in me. Saunders as much as told me so. Which means..."

"That the Potomac beckons? Yeah, I'd kind of figured that out for myself." He shrugs, slipping his trousers off and hanging them up tidily in the wardrobe.

"Shit. I'm sorry." I say wretchedly, finally having found something to drag my attention away from his tanned long legs and plain black cotton briefs which do not do a very good job of hiding what he's got packed away inside. Guilt is my constant companion through life. I usually find it can distract me from almost anything. "I really didn't think he was planning on luring you here. I thought I could..."

"Mulder." He interrupts, sounding tired. "I've long since come to the conclusion that you don't actually 'think' at all. I've accepted this as the downside to your unusual abilities. The fact is that your instincts, hunches and sheer improvisational qualities usually more than make up for any lack of coherent planning, but on this occasion, I must say that my belief in that is stretched to its limit. However we have a difficult situation to negotiate which will require all our skill. We have a murderer to catch and we need our wits about us just to stay alive. I can promise you that when and you note my use of the word "when" and not "if", " he smiles at me grimly, "when we get back, we will have a long discussion about your continued flouting of my orders. In the meantime, we're a team and we've both got a job to do so I suggest we get some sleep. You can have the chair." He throws me a blanket and I nod. It's only right he should have the bed after the stunt I've pulled today, although I do have to say that the chair chafes against my bare shoulders and it's impossible to get comfortable. I lie under the blanket, watching him as he pads over to the bathroom, listening to him pee, clean his teeth, splash water around as he washes. I pretend to close my eyes as he returns to the bedroom, snapping off the light, but I'm watching him through my eyelashes, noting the movement of muscles under skin, the sheer size of him, the small scars I can see on his back, the way he takes off his glasses and places them on the bedside table. I close my eyes firmly and pull my knees up to my chest, trying to get comfortable, trying to figure out what I'm feeling and failing.

He's asleep within minutes. It's astonishing - probably a trick he picked up in Vietnam. I'm sure he'd bore me with a story about how you have to grab sleep when and wherever you can even when it's in the pouring rain up to your ears in mud after another day at the front. Then I wish he would bore me with such a story because it wouldn't be boring, it would be fascinating because he hardly ever talks about Vietnam and I'd like to know more about him. Then I think about how much my shoulders hurt and of all the things I'd like to do to Matt if I could get my hands on him which leads me to the sickening subject of all the things he'd like to do to me if he could get his hands on me and at that point I give up even trying to sleep.

I tiptoe across the room to the "weird" cabinet and peek inside. This is better than counting sheep - count strange sex aids instead. The various whips, handcuffs, chains and buttplugs are easy enough to identify but some of the items mystify me. I find a long leather thing with buckles on it and a huge steel pole with cuffs on each end. Then there's some small clamp-like devices. I can guess a use for them that makes me wince. Skinner rolls over and sighs and I retreat with the mystifying items into the bathroom to see if I can figure out what they're for. Shit, I've watched enough porn in my time, but I have to say that it mostly had titles like "When Harry Fucked Sally" and "Bad Bad Girls With Big Big Boobs." Nothing with anything that looked like any of this stuff in it. AND DEFINITELY NO GAY BDSM PORN!

The leather thing fits nicely on my wrist, but I sense it doesn't really BELONG there. It doesn't seem to be a very erotic usage. And the pole is beyond me. The little metallic devices are obviously designed for use on the nipples but I don't test them on that area of my body - I'm not that screwed up. However I can testify that they hurt like hell when attached to my little finger so I dread to think what they do to your nipples. And I would like to point out that I'm not just playing around like a kid in a sex shop. I'm also mulling over the events of the day and the details of the case and something about my conversation with Skinner in the office earlier on (was that really today? It seems like a lifetime ago) is bugging me but I can't figure out why or what it is. Something I said, something he mentioned, something...

I'm musing on this, trying to pin it down, absently deciding that the leather thing would work well as a hat and trying to strap it on over my head when there is a knock at the door, it's opened and Skinner glances in at me.

"The light's been on in here for ages. I wondered if you were okay," he mutters, double-taking the headgear.

"I couldn't sleep. I was thinking." I murmur.

"And you do that better with a ball-gag on your head do you?" He asks.

"Oh, that's what it is? Yeah of course it is." I take it off hastily. "Call me naïve, but I just don't have any idea what some of this stuff is used for. How do you know so much about it?" Did I really say that?

"I spent some time working in vice." He says quickly. Too quickly? "What were you thinking about? Have you figured any of this out?" He comes into the bathroom and leans against the basin, looking at me intently.

"I'm not sure. It's something to do with the way those men were murdered. Maybe the blood loss. And something you said...but I can't quite put my finger on it. Damn - it's there if I could just get the picture straight in my head."

"You're tired." He shrugs. "Look, Mulder, I said you should get some sleep and I meant it. I know you're tense about this - shit, I am too, but we're safe for tonight so I think we should make the most of it. Who knows what they've got planned for us tomorrow."

"I know. You're right. That armchair was hurting my shoulders and..."

"Shit. I'm sorry. I should have thought. Here." He goes over to the first aid kit and gets out some gel, sitting me down on the edge of the tub and soothing some onto my shoulders, making me jump as the cold liquid comes into contact with my hot skin. "Fucking sickos," he mutters to himself. I wish I knew what to think or feel. I'm just aware that one of his hands is on my shoulder and the other is gently massaging that gel into my back and it hurts and is cold and hot and tingly all at the same time. And I don't want him to stop. I like the feel of his hand, of his gently caressing fingers. I wonder what it would be like to feel him lean down and kiss the back of my neck and that makes my hair stand up on end and gives me goose-bumps. "It's a huge bed," he remarks, totally without embarrassment. "We'll share then both of us might get a good night's sleep. Don't worry - I promise your chastity will be safe with me." He grins. He doesn't smile very often and I'm not used to seeing him without his glasses either. I stare at him, fascinated but he doesn't notice. Instead he just ushers me back into the bedroom, slips down into the bed, waits for me to get in beside him and then turns the light off.

I lie there rigidly still for several minutes, waiting for my heart to stop pounding inside me. I can sense that he's totally relaxed next to me, one arm slung across the bed, his body sprawled out. Probably another trick he learned in Vietnam. How to sleep next to men without giving any sexual signals or being remotely embarrassed by proximity. Then on the other hand of course, he's not got all these weird lustful thoughts rampaging around in his skull. He's probably thinking through the details of the case or running over the baseball league scores in his head. Finally I hear him snoring and start to relax. I can't resist leaning over a little way to smell him - yeah, I know but I'm going crazy here. I want to remember the way he smelt back in the library, the anger in his body. I wish I could rest my head on his shoulder and feel his arms go around me again. I want to feel the hardness of his chest as it presses against my back. Shit. I try and distract myself by thinking of women with enormous breasts which usually works well enough, but not this time. Since when did I ever lust after men? Consciously at least. Subconsciously? As all this goes around in my head, I finally fall asleep.

I wake up boiling hot and stiff. These jeans are far too tight to sleep in but since the alternative was sleeping naked next to a man who's beginning to attract me in a powerful and disturbing way, it was by far the better option to keep the jeans on. The heat radiating from Skinner, (the man is a furnace) combined with the heat from my sore shoulders is too much for me to bear. I slip out from under the sheets, grab the blanket from the chair and then settle myself down at the foot of the bed. That's when Nick's words come back to me, about sleeping at the foot of your master's bed. Sick, Mulder. Sick! I don't move though. Just getting into role, like the boss ordered. That's my excuse anyway and I can't be bothered to fight it any more. Skinner's right. We need to just concentrate on getting out of here alive and who cares if I let slip something I shouldn't or if he finds out that I've spent the whole night sleeping next to him with a hard on? I just hope that we both live long enough for me to be embarrassed about it when we get back to the office. I'll have plenty of time to worry about my sexuality then.

We didn't get to bed until after one, but all the same we're both awake by seven.

"Comfortable night?" He looks surprised by my choice of sleeping location.

"Yeah well...it got a bit hot." I mutter.

"Oh shit. Sorry about that. Sharon used to make me sleep on the couch half the summer. She said that I had a metabolism most women would die for and made some dig about hooking me up to a generator to cut down on heating bills. I didn't notice her complaining on cold winter nights though." He grins. This is weird. Being locked up in this room all night with him, both of us half naked, him talking about something personal for maybe the first time ever without the threat of a murder charge being used as leverage against him. I guess I never really saw him as a fully rounded human being before. I wonder about Sharon. I know they're divorced and I wonder why. Not that I'm thinking it's even remotely possible that has anything to do with him having suddenly discovered that he's a bisexual top who wants to throw his most irritating special agent to the floor and screw him senseless. No way. Well only slightly.

I do a good job of not watching him get up and go into the bathroom and of not listening to him having a shower, and of not wondering what it would be like to get in beside him. Then it's back to not watching him again as he prowls into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, the water glistening in his chest hair. I have to move fast when he starts to take off his towel to dry himself though. Not watching him being totally naked would be beyond my endurance. So I disappear into the bathroom to get washed myself, throwing myself under ice-cold water and attempting to jerk myself off at the same time - an exquisite form of self-torture. Maybe I am a masochist after all.

Waiting for 10 am is like waiting for an execution. We sit there, he on the end of the bed, me in the chair, counting the minutes. He clears his throat and looks at me.

"Remember what I told you, Mulder." He says in a low, soft voice. We've already been through this twice in the past hour.

"Sure." I shrug and make a face as my shoulders remind me how they're feeling.

"No, really. I know what you're like. Do as I say, keep your eyes down and for god's sake don't provoke anybody." He gets up as we hear footsteps in the corridor but they pass by and he sits back down.

"I can do that." I shrug a second time and then make a mental note not to shrug again for the next few days.

"Good. It's just an act. Remember that. We're playing a part. It's not real. It doesn't matter what they say to you. Just keep your eyes down and do as you're told. For once." He gives me a warning look.

"I will, I will!" I flare.

He rolls his eyes. "See. You can't even manage to keep hold of your temper without any provocation. Out there is plenty of provocation, Mulder. Now just keep yourself under control. Remember what you are to these people."

"I'm a goddamn amoeba to these people." I fume. "I don't think I'll forget that and if I do I'm sure they'll remind me of it pretty damn fast."

"Or I will." He sighs and glares at me. "You have my apologies in advance for anything I might do or say, Mulder. But if you look like you're going to fuck up then I'm going to behave exactly as they expect. Our lives are on the line here and even if you forget that, then I certainly won't."

"How reassuring." I murmur.

"Yeah. Ain't it the truth." He actually laughs, a strange, bass, rumbling sound which I don't think I've ever heard before. Then his face becomes serious again. "It's just for show, Mulder. We're just playing along," he says.

If that's the case, how come he's so good at it I wonder to myself as a key is turned in the door and we're allowed out.

The dining hall is just another big cave, like the library, but it also has that same air of rough-hewn elegance. There's another huge oak table and several of the tops are already seated. I wonder who owns this place and where it can be but before I go any further with that contemplation I'm distracted by the sight of the slaves waiting on their masters. There's a side table covered in the most mouth-watering food and a few young men in jeans hanging around waiting for orders. I'm starving and wonder if I'll be allowed to eat here or whether I have to go back to the slave pen for that. Saunders gets to his feet and beckons Skinner over, pointing him to a spare chair.

"Please, Mr Skinner. Do join us." He smiles that creepy smile of his. Nick appears with a plate full of food and sets it down in front of Saunders, pouring him a glass of orange juice. "Nick - show Fox what to do." Saunders waves me away and turns his attention back to Skinner. I can't hear what they're saying - something polite about sleeping well and the comfort of the room I think. Nothing heavy just yet.

"He's your master?" Nick stares at Skinner with considerable interest.

"Yes." I find myself staring at Skinner as well. He's dressed in yesterday's clothing but he looks as cool and neat as ever. The tiny fringe of hair at the back of his scalp is still wet from his shower. He seems to be relaxed but I can tell that he isn't. His muscles are poised, tensed, like a cat about to pounce. He's on edge.

"Aaron told me about how you struggled with Matt." Nick whispers. "I can see why now. No wonder you wanted to keep yourself for such a master."

"Um. Yeah." Which at least means I'm not a total pervert. I mean, all these sub men are attracted to Skinner so he must exude pheromones.

"Did he punish you for running off and coming here?" Nick looks at the welts on my shoulders.

"Um, no. Not yet." I struggle with the two levels I'm living on - three if you count the one in my head. "Matt did that to me. I think my master was just pleased to have me back. He did threaten to punish me later though." That's no more than the truth!

"Aaron said he missed me while he was away." Nick smiles. "I was worried he'd brought you back to replace me when he brought you in yesterday. You're just the sort of sub he likes and I keep thinking he'll get bored with me. He's such a good master, so strong..." Poor Nick. He's really got it bad. "I'm glad you've got someone like Aaron." Nick tells me. "Now, what would your master like to eat?"

"Eat?" I repeat stupidly, looking at the table of food.

"Yeah - what does he normally have for breakfast?" Nick is looking at me expectantly. How the hell should I know what Skinner's eating habits are? I reason that I might as well take him something of everything just to be safe. I pile a plate full of food and bring it over, putting it in front of him. He ignores me, continuing his conversation with Saunders, some of which I catch.

"I don't take kindly to being locked in against my will." Skinner is saying, his tone reasonable but firm.

"Just a precaution. We don't know you that well yet, but you're our guest. I'm sure we'll be able to dispense with locks and keys soon." Saunders replies, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. I retreat and find a jug of orange juice, returning with it and pouring my 'master' a glass.

"Just how long were you anticipating we'd stay?" Skinner is asking.

"Who knows?" Saunders replies evasively. "That'll be up to you. Most of us choose to stay for quite some time on our first visit. When we're sure of you and when you've agreed to our terms you'll be allowed to leave. You'll have to be initiated and agree to a sum towards our costs. But obviously you can't stay here indefinitely, however appealing the idea - your business doesn't run itself after all. After your initiation you can come and go as you wish - take advantage of the facilities and challenges we offer here."

"Challenges?" Skinner asks sharply.

"Yes." Saunders smiles. "You'll see."

"And I suppose you aren't going to tell me any more about this "initiation" either?" Skinner questions. Saunders smiles and shakes his head.

"All in good time, Mr Skinner. All in good time."

"Fine." Skinner imbues that word with considerable displeasure, implying that it's not fine at all. "But if that's the case then I'd like a change of clothes. I can't wear these indefinitely."

"Of course." Saunders nods. "We've taken care of that already. There'll be clothing in your room by the time you return. And a laundry service is provided as well. Just leave your clothes in the basket provided and they'll be returned to you the following day."

I'm standing helplessly at Skinner's elbow, feeling like a spare part and my stomach suddenly rumbles loudly. Saunders laughs at me.

"I do hope your master allows you to eat soon, Fox." He smirks. "You look as if you need feeding up."

"Well I wasn't exactly hungry last night." I reply and then wish I hadn't. I wasn't given permission and he wasn't asking me a question. I sense that I've made a mistake and the anxious glances the other slaves in the room are darting at me confirm that. Skinner's jaw tightens as he takes in the atmosphere in the room and he frowns at me.

"Kneel down," he hisses and I obey quickly. Then he backhands me casually but not particularly hard across the jaw. "Now keep quiet," he says. This seems to meet with everybody's approval and people go back to what they were doing. I hate this place. The smallest thing upsets these weirdos and I'm not very good at keeping quiet and being obedient.

"He's very spirited isn't he?" Saunders remarks, cutting up a slice of melon and feeding a piece to Nick who's kneeling at his side.

"Hmm." Skinner snorts.

"Do you think you discipline him enough?" Saunders's eyes meet mine and I flush furiously. Skinner takes a long drink of orange juice and appears to be seriously pondering this question.

"I don't know," he muses. "Fox, what do you think?" He stares at me, his eyes quite serious.

"Well...um...I think that maybe sometimes my master is too kind to me, considering how I behave." I reply.

"Yeah." Skinner grunts. "But you see, Saunders." He turns back to our host. "I like him this way. I wouldn't want him broken. He's more fun to play with like this."

"I can see that might be the case. However I should warn you that we aren't very tolerant here." I get a sinking feeling in my stomach as he says this, my burning shoulders reminding me what not being "very tolerant" might mean.

"Don't worry. He knows who's in charge." Skinner says. "And I have no trouble at all keeping him in line. He's always obedient with me. Completely. Isn't that so, Fox?"

"Yes, master." I mutter. It's hard to believe that he's not enjoying himself with this despite all that talk about acting a role. I watch enviously as Saunders feeds Nick a slice of toast. I'm starving. Then I stiffen as Matt comes in. He catches my eye and grins at me, the grin of someone who totally expects to get exactly what he wants before too long. And it doesn't take much to work out what it is he wants. He's got this poor kid on a lead and the boy (he can't be more than twenty) is covered in welts and bruises and looks totally miserable. I realise with a pang of guilt that Matt had to take out his humiliation last night on somebody. The kid scurries off to get breakfast and on his return kneels beside Matt, his head down.

"You hungry?" Matt leers at the boy who nods, licking his lips. Matt grins. "Here." He puts some food on a plate, places it on the ground and sits back in his chair to watch. "Eat." He commands. The boy puts his hands out but Matt stops him with his foot. "No hands. Use your mouth." The boy nods and puts his head down to the plate, eating like a dog. Matt grins again and his eyes meet mine. The expression on his face is vicious, savage and salacious. His eyes rake over my body, the desire in them undisguised. I feel myself reacting, my muscles tensing. I want to crush his breakfast all over his stupid, battered face but Skinner has seen the exchange, senses my mood and distracts me.

"Breakfast, Fox," he murmurs, handing me a slice of bread, his hand brushing my wrist as he gives me a warning glance.

"Thank you, sir."

"You can use your hands." He says, his remark directed pointedly at Matt, at whom he's glaring across the table, not me.

"Yes, sir."

If it's not acceptable for me to sit up at the table and eat like a normal human being then at least I retain some dignity this way. Skinner sees that I get as big a breakfast as he does - handing me bite sized pieces of bacon and sausage to lessen the indignity of having to eat messily with my fingers. I use the opportunity to take a good look around the room. There are about 15 tops and the same number of subs, but whether that's the sum total of people here, or just the first people to have arrived for breakfast I can't tell.

After breakfast Saunders shows us around this strange, sprawling underground complex. In fact, he shows Skinner around and I just trail along behind, digging my fingernails into the palms of my hand to remind myself not to talk and not to ask questions. This is tough - I'm naturally curious and although Skinner asks most of the stuff that occurs to me, there are a couple of times when he doesn't and I'm burning to open my mouth and start firing. I only forget myself once and Skinner treads on my bare foot in time to stop me. It's amazing how much of a distraction a bruised toe can be.

The complex has a swimming pool, gym and sauna as well as an extensive relaxation area. In addition to the library and dining hall there are several other meeting rooms, including one with a large pool table in it where a few slave boys are hanging around aimlessly playing pool. They snap to attention when Saunders enters the room and I notice a couple of them looking speculatively and appreciatively at Skinner. I also have to admit that I watch him to see if he's looking equally appreciatively at them but he isn't. He doesn't even spare them a glance. Well why would he? It's not as if I'm eyeing all the tops after all. Finally Saunders takes us into a huge, bare, empty cavern with sand on the floor.

"What's this for?" Skinner asks and I'm equally mystified.

"Oh you'll see. Later on this evening." Saunders replies, before taking us through the cavern into a much smaller room. At one end there is a huge stone altar and above that hangs a mural depicting a battle between a man and a bull. The bull is definitely losing. There are some wooden benches on either side of the room. It has the air of a chapel.

"A place of worship?" Skinner asks, one eyebrow raised in semi-disbelief.

"You could say that. If you pass certain...challenges, then this where you will be initiated into the Brotherhood." Saunders replies, his face deadly serious. I want to get out of here as fast as I can. We're in crazy religious cult territory and that's even worse than being in lunatic secret sadist society territory. Put the two together and you're in such deep shit you might as well stop breathing and wait to be measured for your coffin. Except it's more likely Skinner's coffin and my virginity. I bet there are guys here who'd just love to "break" me in. Right now Skinner is all that's standing between me and them but that's not the only reason I want to keep him alive. There are truckloads of other reasons as well - not least the fact that if any man is going to get his hands on my cherry then I'd prefer it to be him. That's something I don't want to think about so I'm relieved when Saunders starts to take us back towards the huge cavernous room we came through to get here. I notice before we leave the "chapel" that there is another door at the end - a door he hasn't led us through. Skinner points at it, an inquiring look on his face and Saunders shakes his head.

"You don't want to go in there," he says quietly. "Trust me. Let us hope that you never need to go in there." Shit, it's like Bluebeard's castle. I wonder if there's trussed up corpses in there, or dismembered heads on sharpened sticks. I wouldn't be surprised.

We return to the gym where Saunders suggests that Skinner works out.

"Slaves can use the facilities at certain times of the day." He glances at me. "During the rest period before dinner for example. As long as their master has given them permission."

"What about fresh air?" Skinner asks. "I noticed that Matt was dressed for riding. I assume that wasn't just a costume?"

"Of course not." Saunders shakes his head. "Later, when you've been initiated, you will be allowed full use of the complex, including the outdoor facilities. Until that time, please keep yourself confined to those areas I have shown you, Mr Skinner. I don't like to make threats or indulge in pointless posturing with another top outside the Arena, but you should be fully aware that the penalties for ignoring my instructions are severe." I don't have time to wonder what he means by the "arena" because suddenly his gaze falls on me. "Your sub should also be aware of those penalties. In fact, in view of his somewhat...temperamental nature, perhaps there is another place I should show you." And he gestures that we follow him again. He takes us down a series of dark, dimly lit corridors, going in a distinctly downhill direction until we end up in a dungeon area, with locked gates. He takes out a key and opens the door, showing us inside.

"This is the Zone," he murmurs and I exchange a look with Skinner. I told him about the Zone last night. "I believe there is only one occupant at the moment." Saunders opens up another door and I walk in then stop short, recoiling in horror. I back up, ending up tight against Skinner's chest as he tries to enter the cell behind me, not having seen what I have.

"What is it, Fox?" His hands find my arms and he pushes me to one side, then I feel and hear him take a deep breath. There's a guy in here who's been stripped naked and manacled to some sort of upright rack. His body is covered with whip marks from head to toe, back and front, and there's some sort of contraption attached to his genitals, weighting them down, that looks so painful I want to vomit. His mouth is forced open and transfixed by a wad of metal that is so tight it's given him sores around his lips. His eyes open as we enter and he looks at us in mute despair and pleading, flinching as if he expects some new torment. I find myself shivering and suppress a strangled yelp as I see that there's something up his ass as well. I don't want to know what, I don't want to see any more. I want to be sick. I can't think or breathe and I'm aware that I'm hyperventilating badly. Skinner's hands close more tightly around my arms and he's pressed so close behind me that I can feel the shudder that goes through his body. His chest is solid and reassuring against my back and then suddenly, unexpectedly, he moves his arms around my chest, holding me tightly and we stand there for a moment, eyes closed, taking what comfort we can from each other to avoid looking the true horror of our situation in the face. Then the moment passes, Skinner pulls me back out of the cell without a word and pushes me quickly out of the Zone, not waiting for Saunders who is locking doors behind us.

"How long...?" Skinner asks when Saunders rejoins us in the gym area.

"How long has he been kept like that? 2 days." Saunders shrugs. "He's untied for a half an hour each 6 hours to urinate, defecate, eat and drink. When he's re-tied he's also whipped again. He's learned not to look forward to the freedom and the food - knowing that it also means more pain and the discomfort of being reattached to certain...devices."

"And how much longer?" Skinner asks. Saunders shrugs.

"That depends. He wasn't being very obedient." Saunders glances at me. "And his master isn't very happy with him right now. So another day minimum. Then we might see how eager he is to serve his master again. If he can convince us then we'll consider letting him return to normal service."

"It seems like a tough punishment." Skinner remarks.

"We are tough." Saunders shrugs. "I told you, Mr Skinner, there are no limits here. No safe words. The subs like the danger as much as we do. They don't want us to be soft. They like to know that there are ultimately, some very cruel sanctions."

"Supposing it went too far? Supposing someone died?" I hold my breath as Skinner asks this question but Saunders doesn't seem to suspect anything.

"It doesn't." Saunders shrugs. "And none of our subs has died. That would defeat the object. We want them obedient but warm. No fun in fucking a corpse, Mr. Skinner."

"Crudely put, Mr. Saunders." Skinner responds smoothly.

Saunders chuckles loudly and his gaze lingers on me again.

"You know a spell in the Zone might do wonders for his attitude," he murmurs. I can't help the incoherent choking sound that escapes from my throat.

"I wouldn't agree to that." Skinner says firmly, moving between me and Saunders.

"If he breaks certain rules then you'd have no choice." Saunders shrugs. "We accept your authority over him to a certain extent and as long as you keep him under control there shouldn't be a problem with you punishing him any way you see fit and I trust you DO see fit on occasions. He certainly needs it. However, if he were to break any serious community rules, then the matter would be out of your hands. As indeed, would be the case if you were to break any such rules yourself."

"We understand." Skinner nods, exhaling a deep breath. "Don't we, Fox?" I'm surprised to feel his hand on the back of my neck, digging into my flesh savagely.

"Yes, sir." I mutter. If anything could keep me quiet and obedient it's the thought of the Zone. I'm feeling pretty subdued as Saunders shows Skinner where he can find clothing suitable for a work out.

"You should take this opportunity to use the gym." Saunders states. "You must keep in good shape in order to succeed in the 'challenges' I mentioned earlier." We both watch as Saunders leaves us, going in the direction of the pool. I don't even see Skinner move so I'm surprised to find myself thrown against the wall, his hands on shoulders as he looks into my eyes.

"Don't do anything to upset them," he warns me urgently. "I mean it, Mulder. I'll whip your ass myself if it'll stop you. Anything rather than let them get their sick hands on you." His fingers are rough and he's hurting me, but right at this moment I don't care. I'm not surprised he's lost control after what we witnessed. He's scared of standing by helplessly and having to watch them hurt me and I'd feel the same way if our situations were reversed. His part of this deal is just as hard as mine. Harder maybe. I just nod, shakily.

"It's all right. I'm not stupid." I tell him, staring into his eyes, trying to will him back into control of himself because he's right on the edge. "It's okay." I put my hands over his and gently loosen them from my shoulders. He takes a deep breath and nods, letting me go and running an open palm over his bald head as if smoothing away imaginary hair.

"Okay. Yes. Okay." He mutters to himself, unbuttoning his shirt so savagely that he pulls a couple of buttons off. He hangs it up neatly - I think being neat is some reflex action for him. He just seems to hate mess and he's using these rituals of tidiness to keep himself sane right now. "Okay..." He's still muttering as another top enters the changing room with a sub in tow. I watch in envy as the sub helps his master to change then some sort of instinct takes over and I go to where Skinner is sitting and kneel in front of him, undoing the sneakers that have been provided for him and putting them on his feet, tying up the laces. He lays a hand on my shoulder and touches me softly as I do this. It's an apology for his roughness, for losing control and I want to stop what I'm doing and let him caress me all over, to reassure him that I know his anger wasn't directed at me but at them. Then the moment passes and he gets up and I follow him into the gym.

Watching him exercise is more absorbing than I could ever have imagined. Forget tracking down alien bounty hunters and sparring with Krycek - this is far better. He's got all this negative energy and he's just bursting to take it out on something. Rowing machines, pec-decks, Nordic tracks, treadmills and ab crunchers all take the strain of his mood. I'm not required to do more than stand by with a towel, which he needs to use every few minutes to wipe the sweat off because he's going at such a furious pace. He works out in a grim faced silence for fully 2 hours doing hundreds of repetitions before he's finally worked through some of his anger. Then he grabs the towel off me and informs me that he's going for a swim. "Stay at the poolside - I want you in sight the whole time." He instructs and I nod, only too happy to oblige.

Watching him swim is good as well. I'm so absorbed in the sight of that bald head bludgeoning the water into submission as he butterflies through it that I don't notice Matt until he's pressed up close behind me, one arm around my chest, the other insinuating itself down the front of my jeans.

"Don't move, brat," he whispers. I tense up and I'm on the verge of pushing him away when I remember the Zone and the expression on Skinner's face as he held me against the wall in the changing room. I try consciously to relax. Skinner has just turned and has his back to us as he powers down another length. If Matt wants to do anything he's got less than 40 seconds before Skinner makes his next turn. "I'm going to fuck you one day." Matt whispers in my ear. "I think that your master can't have much between his legs. I think you're just panting for a real man to take you, hard and fast. Isn't that what you'd like, Fox?"

"Don't touch me." I say, through gritted teeth. His hand is round my cock, stroking it. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on holding my temper in check.

"I'll win you." He whispers. "I'll show you what a real man feels like. I'll bend you over and fuck you and then I'll beat you so hard you'll be begging me to touch you, not refusing me. Begging, brat. Begging. Anything to stop my whip tearing your flesh from your bones. If I'm feeling kind I might even listen, but I don't often feel kind." He gives a staccato little laugh. I open my eyes and search the pool for Skinner, feeling sure that he'll have turned and seen what's happening, but there are too many people in the pool and I've lost sight of him. I fight down a rising sense of panic, itching to deck this guy but knowing that the penalty for that is likely to be a lot worse than the few stripes across the shoulders I took last night. "You see." Matt's breath is hot against my cheek. "I like someone who needs to be subdued. I like to take a sub with fire in his belly and show him who's boss. Sometimes you don't act like you've been trained at all, brat. You're just waiting for someone strong to take charge of you. Skinner isn't that guy. He doesn't hurt you enough - you're not scared of him enough. You'd be scared of me though." He licks my ear and I shudder.

"If this is your idea of talking dirty and turning me on you can forget it." I whisper, fixing my eyes pointedly on my cock, which is still limp despite his vigorous efforts at arousing me. "You wouldn't know where to begin with me, Matt."

"Sir." He squeezes viciously and I choke, only barely able to hold onto my temper and howling silently in pain. At that moment Skinner emerges from the pool, shaking his body like a dog, soaking the subs at the poolside in droplets of water. Nobody complains. Matt removes his hand from my jeans and straightens up, smiling at Skinner in an unthreatening way as my boss comes over.

"I've been watching you. There's something not quite right about you two." Matt murmurs. "He wants to punish you but he holds back - I've seen it. And you want to serve him but you hold back as well. And you clearly aren't under control. If you were mine you would be. I'd see to that." He pushes past Skinner and dives headfirst into the water, causing a huge splash and soaking us all again. Skinner has heard the whole of that last part of our conversation and he looks grim as he starts to dry himself. I step up to him and take the towel out of his hands and he stiffens as I start to dry him.

"Time for a good show. He might be onto us." I whisper in his ear, wishing that I wasn't using this as an excuse to run my hands over his body. He nods and relaxes, allowing me to rub him dry and drawing admiring gazes from some of the other subs who are devouring the sight of his naked body. None of the swimmers are wearing any trunks. I guess it's just not that sort of place but I manage to keep my eyes from staring at my boss's impressive cock with too much salacious curiosity. I've never been attracted to a man before. At least I don't think so. Not like this. Is it just this place with its rules and the atmosphere of lust and sex? Or is it the way we've been thrown together in this dangerous, life-threatening situation? That can happen. People bond very quickly under those circumstances. Does he feel anything for me beyond his usual protective concern for one of his agents combined with his desire to see justice done, to solve a difficult case, to uphold law and order and bring a murderer to trial?

I draw him away to the relaxation area, gesturing him to lie down on one of the massage tables. Three other men are also being massaged and I watch as Nick dips his fingers in oil and rubs his hands along Saunders's meaty calves. Nick's eyes are half-closed and his tongue is sticking out between his lips in rapt concentration as he works. He's been at it for some time judging by Saunders's smoothly glistening skin and the relaxed state of his muscles. Nick finishes and kneels obediently by the table.

"Does master require anything else?" He asks in a soft, adoring voice. Saunders opens a lazy eye.

"No. Thank you, Nick. That was very nice." Nick sighs with pleasure and Saunders smiles and turns over onto his back. "Here." He pulls Nick close and unbuttons his jeans, sliding his hand inside and finding Nick's bulging cock. He fondles it lazily, his eyes fixed on Nick's panting face which is lost in an expression of rapture, his eyes tightly closed. Nick is quivering, on the verge of coming when Saunders stops his caress. Nick's eyes fly open, the disappointment etched in them, stark and hungry and needing. "Finish yourself off. I'll watch." Saunders lies back, placing his hands behind his neck and now Nick grins, a wicked, sly grin. He pushes his jeans down and delights in showing off his erect cock - not just to his master but to all of us. And everyone in the room is watching of course. It's impossible to tear yourself away from the sight of Nick, his hand wrapped around his hard cock as he pumps himself dry, twisting his butt teasingly as he works, the sweat soaking into his dark hair, his tongue moistening his lips. Saunders has a wide grin of proud ownership on his face and his eyes occasionally flicker around the room, enjoying the interest we are taking in his slave. A slave we can look at but can't touch. So we know what we're missing, so that we can see what Saunders gets to enjoy and keep to himself, safe from any other man. You can tell that turns Saunders on and I'd lay bets that if any of the other tops in the room reached out so much as a fingertip to Nick right now, Saunders would kill them with his bare hands. Finally Nick comes, his back arched, feline and feral and there is a collective sigh around the room, before the subs return to their massaging activities.

Skinner is lying on his front on the massage table so I have no idea whether Nick's little display aroused him at all but it sure as hell aroused me. Most of all I was aroused by the look that passed between master and slave. The rhythm between them, two people totally in sync with their desires and needs, each able to give the other exactly what he wants, fitting together like a hand and glove. And there was a moment when I envied them that.

With Nick's display in my mind and Matt's words still ringing in my ears I get some oil and rub it over my hands before placing them carefully on Skinner's back. He's not very relaxed but I don't suppose I can blame him for that. Frankly I've never been exactly famous for my massage technique, but then my life has never depended on it before and after what Matt said I sense that something skillful is now required from me. And of course it's not like I don't WANT to run my hands all over his naked body. I've stopped having that internal struggle with myself. So I put my heart and soul into this massage. I want him to relax, I want to savor every last stroke that my hands can legitimately give to all that solid, muscular, honey-colored flesh. I want to worship him under the guise of this role. He won't know, he'll just think I'm doing my best to save both our asses but that isn't the truth. My hands are firm on his flesh, caressing it, making love to it in a way I can't do in everyday life. I've never touched a man's body like this before and I'm not familiar with it but it doesn't matter. What I lack in skill I make up for in my sheer fascination for his flesh and my desire to atone in some small way for forcing him to risk his life by coming after me.

I'm not even aware of the rest of the room as I work - my whole being is centered on him, on smoothing away the tension in his neck and making his body relax under my hands. I start with his back, then move onto his arms, taking one in my hands and rubbing it smoothly, shaking it until it's loose, rotating it and finally massaging each finger between my own, very slowly. I love having my own hands massaged and he loves it too. I can tell by looking at the expression on his face. His eyes may be closed but I can still sense what he likes and dislikes. I lose myself in his body, in the role and time stops for me. I don't even think about it as I raise his fingers to my lips and kiss each one and he doesn't open his eyes or object, or even stiffen. Then I move on up his arm, covering his body in tiny kisses and he just lies there, accepting it as his due, as a master should. I kiss a line down his back, even over his ass, all the way down his legs to the soles of his feet and he has my whole heart as I do this. It's the most erotic moment of my life and if he asks me about it later I can hide behind the role, behind my concern of being found out, behind my fear of the Zone. And of course, he can do the same. Maybe it won't be a lie for him as it is for me. Maybe.

I massage him all over, back and front and finally dip my fingers in the oil one last time and massage his scalp. I've never touched a man's bald head in this way before, if at all. There is something more sexual about a naked skull than anything else and my fingers burn with the ecstasy of this moment. I can almost feel the electricity that oozes from them as I smooth gentle lines across his head, finding bumps and dips I hadn't expected like the topography of a landscape. He left his glasses behind in the changing room and he's lying on his back, his face calm and composed under my ministrations. I allow my fingers to gently brush his cheek, soothe down the side of his neck, watching him, fascinated by his proximity, his nakedness, by seeing him, someone I am so familiar with in this unfamiliar way, stripped of our every day selves, of our working life. Away from offices and reports and endless arguments about procedure and 302's and lines that shouldn't be crossed. This is one line I want to cross. I know that now. I'm certain of it. Leaning forward I press my lips to his forehead and kiss him softly, with all this new found affection, maybe even, I'm afraid to say it, love?

Then it's over. My fingers just stop and I sit back, noticing for the first time the silence that has fallen on the room. Looking up I see that we have been watched, that my loving massage was the focus of as much attention as Nick jerking himself off. Saunders is lying on his stomach gazing at me, transfixed and Matt has come into the room and is leaning against the wall, a jealous frown on his face. Nick is smiling at me with a look of recognition, one sub to another, acknowledging and sharing a devotion to our respective masters. Skinner seems to notice the atmosphere too and his eyes snap open and he glances around.

"That was beautiful, Fox. Thank you." Saunders murmurs. "I think now we are able to see why your master tolerates your sometimes less than desirable behavior. You are a man to be envied, Mr Skinner." He smiles that smile of his at Skinner who clears his throat and grunts something incoherent. "I'm sure you'll show your appreciation of that fine display." Saunders adds.

"Of course." Skinner says. His eyes meet mine and we're both transfixed for a moment, remembering how Saunders rewarded Nick. I do not want Skinner to start jerking me off in public - the thought of it brings me out in a cold sweat but he does something much more touching instead. He sits up, swings his legs over the side of the massage table and takes hold my face between his hands. Then he kisses my forehead, my nose and finally, softly, my lips. It's not a sexual kiss - just a light touch on my mouth, nothing that we won't both be able to live with later, but all the same it sends streaks of lightning up and down my body and my legs start to shake. Saunders seems satisfied with this, as does the rest of the room and once again normal service is resumed. Matt for one seems to think the whole tone of the place has become unforgivably mushy. He beckons to a sub and throws him over one of the massage tables before proceeding to "take" him in the most perfunctory and brutal way, his eyes fixed on me the whole time with an expression of hate. It's not hard to imagine whom he's metaphorically fucking inside his head. Skinner gets up, wraps a towel around his waist and draws me away. I'm relieved to follow him, leaving the sounds of Matt impaling his conquest behind me.

There are three other tops in the changing room when we return there. Skinner pulls on his briefs and pants and reaches for his shirt but I get there first.

"Master should allow me." I murmur, holding it open for him, then buttoning it up slowly, fastening his pants for him, doing up his belt. He submits to this, flushing slightly and once again I kneel down and help him into his shoes, tying up the laces and his hand plays almost idly with my hair as I do so. Finally he's dressed and we walk along the corridors without speaking.

It feels almost as if he's punched me in the stomach when, upon reaching the sanctuary of our room and closing the door behind us, he turns to me and says:

"Mulder, we've got to get out of this place. And soon."

It's not that I don't want to get out of this madness but more that it seems like a rejection of the experience we just went through together. Maybe this shows on my face because he stops the pacing he's started and stares at me for a moment.

"You're in danger," he growls. "From Matt, from Saunders, from all of them. And we should find out whatever it is he's keeping in that room we can't go in. Somewhere along the line we have a murderer to catch."

"I know that." I snap back at him. "It was my goddamn idea to look for him here wasn't it?"

"Yeah. And it was your goddamn idea to disobey every goddamn order I damn well gave you." He spits, balling his hands into fists.

"Yeah, well when you start giving sensible orders then I'll damn well start obeying them." I yell.

"You wouldn't obey any order even if it was to keep breathing, which incidentally I'm trying to goddamn well keep you doing," he snarls back.

"I don't need your help staying alive. I've managed it myself for well over 30 years." I can feel my voice breaking with the sexual tension, the arousal, the danger.

"Yourself? Yeah! Right! Like Scully and I didn't have something to do with that!" He throws back.

"I don't need you, or Scully or anyone else. I was doing just fine until you showed up."

"Nearly being raped by that broken nosed bastard is what you call 'doing fine'?" His tone is low and savage.

"Oh I'm used to being screwed over. Screwed by him, or you or the FBI or the Consortium. What fucking difference does it make to you?"

"I'll tell you what fucking difference it makes to me." He strides over to me, slams me against the wall. "You always trying to get my damn attention. That's the fucking difference it makes to me. You're always flicking and flirting and hissing like you're a cat that wants to be petted. Like a proverbial goddamn tease. I ignored it at first because it soon became as clear as hell to me that you flirt with everyone, but you couldn't leave it alone with me could you? You're always showing off, always challenging me to do something, anything, to get hold of you and..."

"And?" I ask coolly, breathing too fast, looking into his dark, angry eyes, seeing the frustration in them and something uncontrolled - something sexual. Realization floods back in and he lets me go, flinging himself down on the armchair and taking a deep breath.

"Nothing. Forget I said all that. This place is getting to me, that's all. We're buying into the mentality of these people too much. I didn't mean anything. Ignore it."

"No. I want to know what you meant by all that." I come and stand in front of him, confronting him and he looks up, his eyes flashing behind his glasses.

"All right. I meant what I said. You wanted my attention and now you've got it, Mulder. Finally. After all this time. Question is, can you handle it?" He sits up in the chair and reaches out to grab me, pulling me over with one big hand around my waist, somehow forcing me down onto my knees and then he wraps his hand in my hair, pulls my head back and kisses my throat. Hard.

"Is this what you wanted, Mulder?" He murmurs, dipping my head back so that he can take more, biting my earlobe, my neck. I hang there for a moment, wanting to say "no". Wanting to tell him that he's wrong, to knock his hands away and act the affronted agent but my body betrays me.

"Yes." I whisper.

"I know." His other hand is rough on my body, finding my nipples and caressing them with firm fingers. "I've always known," he says.

"How? I didn't. Not until Lenny..."

"Yeah. I heard that tape," he growls, his hand still keeping my head forced back. "I guess you didn't know - that the behavior was subconscious. No wonder you were so mad with Lenny. That sort of knowledge must have come as a shock."

"It did. How did you know? How long have you known?" I ask, my hands flailing wildly as he pushes me further back, forcing me off balance.

"Years. Since the time you ran off to that goddamn observatory in Puerto Rico after I told you to stay put and work on those surveillance tapes. At first I thought you were just an insubordinate jerk, but it was the way you handled all those quests of yours. The way you'd flare up like a firework, making a loud noise and a pretty display. I couldn't figure out who it was you wanted to watch you for a while - I could hardly imagine that it was me. Not until you started talking about your ass the whole time."

"My ass?" His fingers are burning lines of fire down my chest, claiming me.

"Yeah. Every time we had a conversation you managed to get some mention of your ass in somewhere. We had asses being kicked, asses being hauled off, asses in slings, asses all over the goddamn place. Either you were trying to draw my attention to your ass or you had an unhealthy obsession with your own butt. So, yeah, I started to notice your ass, which was presumably what you wanted."

"I thought you were straight." I whisper.

"You thought you were as well." He sucks on my neck, drawing up the blood like a vampire.

"I don't know what I am any more." I can feel myself drowning under his teeth.

"Yes you do, Fox." He draws back and grins at me, a feral grin. "You're what you always have been. What you've always wanted to be."

"What's that?" I ask.

"Mine." He replies.

I hang there for a while, staring at him, knowing inside my soul that this is the truth I've denied for so long, wanting to fight it, struggling to comprehend it and failing to do both. It's a fact of my life and it has always been with me. I just never knew it before.

"What are you saying? Real life has been our subterfuge and finally here, we are who we really are?" My mind tries to wrap itself around this concept and fails. The way his hands and lips are roving all over my body isn't helping matters.

"Don't mistake me for one of these sick bastards," he growls. "I'm nothing like them. And they're right - you're way too disobedient to make a good goddamn sub. Now you've started something here, Fox. Do you want me to finish it?" He stands up, powers me over to the bed and pushes me onto it, one big hand on my chest, holding me down as he leans over me. "I can still stop. We can pretend this never happened. Is that what you want?" His eyes are darker than ever, burning with a kind of weird energy, as if he's holding on with the last ounce of his will power and I know that if I say "no" he'll pull himself back from the brink and collect himself, be true to his word and not speak about this again.

"Yes." I pull his head down and kiss him hard. He growls again and straddles my body, holding my arms down on the bed. "You've never done this before," he says. It's not a question. He just knows.

"No."

"I'm rough." He slams my hands down again as if to illustrate that point. "When I'm like this - I'm rough. Can you handle that?"

"Yes." I nod, trying to move my arms, to put them around his neck but his grip is like a vice.

"Don't move." He warns. I can't believe he's the same Skinner. He seems transformed, trembling with sexual desire, lost in it in a way I'd never have believed. It's frightening. "I've had to keep myself under control for a long time with you. I knew I couldn't exactly just throw you over my desk and show you what you didn't even realize you wanted," he hisses. "I had to rein myself in. When I lose control I'm different. It might be more than you bargained for. Do you trust me?"

I can feel my cock hardening in my jeans. Him, pinning me here like this, is the biggest turn-on I've ever had. And his cock is stiff against my abdomen, I can feel it digging into me.

"Yeah, I trust you. I trust you with my goddamn life. Just fuck me." I plead.

"No." He says, his breathing shallow with desire.

"What?" I struggle in his arms again but he's too strong for me and he thumps me back down onto the bed, squeezing my wrists too hard.

"Not when I'm like this. Not for your first time. I'm too damn big and I'm going to be too out of control to go slowly. I'd hurt you."

"Then hurt me." I moan with frustration. "Just fucking well fuck me!"

He stares down at me, still breathing heavily, struggling with himself. Then he gives in to it and becomes a frenzy of action. He grabs my head, kissing my lips, biting them. His head dips lower and his teeth find one of my nipples, biting down hard, one hand holding me down as I moan and squirm under this savage caress. Another bite on the skin over my ribs hurts like hell. His mouth goes up to my shoulder and he bites again, harder than before, making me scream. He holds me down, his fingers rough. "Don't move. Don't struggle. It makes me worse," he hisses, his hands slapping mine away as I try and roll to one side, to get out from under him. "Submit, Fox. Submit." He smells of something raw and primal, the scent of his sweat overpowering me and making me feel dizzy. His hands grab my jeans, pulling them open and disposing of them, tossing them onto the floor. His fingers run over my swollen cock and I moan and thrust into his hand. "Don't come," he hisses, squeezing, pumping me, making me gasp with pleasure. "Don't fucking come or I swear I'll use one of those whips in that cabinet on your disobedient ass." The way he's talking, the way he's touching me, reduces me to a quivering heap of jello. I've never been turned on like this before. His strength, the animal quality in him, is sending me crazy. And he's telling me not to come?

"You must be out of your fucking mind..." I groan, thrusting up again and then yowling in pain as he slaps my cock, hard.

"I'll tell you when." He gets hold of me by the waist and throws me bodily off the bed. "Get the condoms and lube. Quickly!" He barks and I'm into the bathroom and back out again in under 4 seconds. He's got his shirt off and is unbuttoning his pants.

"I'll do it." My hands are shaking as I open them up. He's said he's big and I want to see just how big he gets when he's aroused. I could see he wasn't exactly small when he was in the pool, but the size of him erect takes my breath away.

"Still so sure you want me to fuck you?" He pulls me tight against him, his erection digging painfully into my thigh, brushing against my own. I just nod, unable to breathe when I can feel the width and length of him so close to me.

"Just do what you want to me. Fuck me, hurt me, I don't care. You've done this before haven't you? With a man?" I ask, trying to find him again, trying to see into his eyes to find my calm, controlled, rational boss, but he isn't there. The sexual fury I've unleashed has gone too far. I'm not sure he could turn back now even if I did refuse him. He's a different man - wild and abandoned but I can't complain that he didn't warn me.

"Yes. I've done this before. With a man. You see..." He's running his fingers along my back, scratching me with his nails. "I can only really let go like this with another guy. Too well brought up I guess." He gives a barking laugh. "I was always taught to be respectful to ladies. I hold myself back with women. But with men...that's different. I can be rough, out of control. You're strong, young, you can take it. Hell, you want to take it. You want it. You want me." He says that with a sort of pride, and I can feel his erection hardening even more against my leg. His lips pound on mine again, sucking me dry, making my mouth bleed. Then he grasps me even closer, imprisoning me in his arms, holding my head against his neck and biting the side of my throat, thrusting against me like a rutting stag. I can't do anything but go limp in his arms, allowing him to use my body the way I want it to be used, the way he wants to use it. He draws back and tosses me down on the bed on my front, his hand slamming against the back of my neck, holding me still. Then I can feel his lips on my back, biting on my shoulder blade. A hard bite like before, wringing a scream from my lips and making me struggle.

"I told you to keep still," he hisses. "You don't know what it does to me when you move." I'm reminded of a cat holding down a mouse, just keeping it there with one paw, lazy and idle while the mouse remains quiet, but turning vicious as soon as the mouse tries to escape. That's what he's like now and I do my best to just lie there and accept the savagery of his assault. My cock is hard, aroused by his strength and his tongue finds my butt.

"Ah, the famous ass." He mutters, licking me there, his tongue entering up my crease and making me sigh. I can feel his weight shifting as he puts one hand on the top of my thighs, the other on my spine. "Don't move or I'll break you in two." He pauses and then I feel his teeth biting down on one of my buttocks and I'm screaming as that bite goes on and on and on, claiming me, marking me as his while he holds me down. Then finally he loosens his teeth, licks at the bite mark he's made and I lie there whimpering. "Fox...?" His hand brushes my hair. "You still with me?"

"Yeah." My response is muffled by the pillow, which I've got between my teeth.

"You're right, Fox. Your ass is worthy of my attention. I'm glad you were kind enough to point it out to me." He laughs, a low bass rumbling sound that I don't think I've ever heard before. Then he has his hands on my balls, stroking them, licking them.

"Don't fucking bite me there or I'll die." I mutter and he laughs again, petting me like I'm a dog or rabbit.

"Wait 'til you feel my cock up your ass. You just might die." His big hands seem to be on every part of my body simultaneously, including my cock and I can't stop myself thrusting again, needing the sweet release of orgasm but he won't give it to me.

"Please..." I moan pathetically.

"Don't talk." He's everywhere, like some inescapable force, some elemental power, blowing my brains out and taking my breath away. "On your knees." He picks me up and holds me. My knees are on the bed, my back pressed against his chest, his arms holding me tight so that I can feel his cock pressed up against me. It's wet and slick and I realize he's already put a condom on it and lube. "Who do you belong to?" he asks me, his cock nuzzling between my butt cheeks, teasing and hard.

"You." I groan as his fingers wrap themselves around my cock and pump again.

"Louder." His voice is in my ear, in my head.

"You. Fuck you. You, you, YOU!" I scream, wanting release, wanting my orgasm.

"Don't fucking come." He growls, his hand leaving my cock, making me sweat with the disappointment of it, wringing a moan of anguish from me. His fingers are on my thighs, holding me tight, pushing me forward. One hand is around my waist and without warning he suddenly thrusts into me, hard. I've never felt anything like this before. First of all it hurts like hell, as he breaches the ring of muscle in my ass, slamming forward with his thighs and holding me up with his hand so I can't escape the initial thrust. Then he smoothly rocks forward, ramming me hard and at the same time seizing my cock once more.

"Fuck." I moan. He's quiet and all I am right now is a mess of sensation. I can feel the hardness of him inside my ass and hear the sound of his breathing. His head is next to mine, his breath warm and hungry on my neck. I fall silent, stilled, becoming used to this new sensation, accustomed to the hard size of him inside me. It's as if we're welded together there, me accepting him within me, he waiting, holding himself inside me, unmoving. We're joined, one, our breathing the only sound we make, the rise and fall of our chests our only movement. It's the calm before the storm because then he suddenly growls and thrusts and it's exquisite, like nothing I can describe - it hurts so much but feels so goddamn good. With each thrust of molten pain, he pumps my cock until my nerve endings are a confusion of messages. Some are telling me I'm having the best time of my life, others telling me I'm on fire with pain in my ass and more still telling me I'm about to damn well die of pleasure. He draws back, rough and slick, then thrusts again and again, each time stroking my cock hard. "Fucking son of a goddamn bitch..." I moan, putting my head back, trying to remember to breathe, feeling my sweat running down my face.

"Yeah." He laughs. "Yeah. And you're mine. Don't forget that." And then he loses it completely and rams into me hard, fast, over and over again until I'm crying out, unable to stay on my knees any more, relying on his big hands to hold me where he wants me, to keep me from toppling over. One of his arms is around my waist, gripping me tight to his chest, the other is working my cock in time to his thrusts and I'm helpless, transfixed. I can feel my ass muscles constricting around him, struggling against him but this doesn't stop him. He's too strong, too fast and too far gone.

"Accept me, damn you." He pushes harder, rougher, taking what he wants where my body won't give it up freely and I find myself opening up more of my body to that insistent hardness.

His mouth lingers against my neck, his teeth nipping at my skin. I can feel myself about to burst and he senses it too. "You can come," he whispers. "Now. Come now." And on cue I do, spurting out in wave after wave, more than I've ever come before. Then I'm spent and the sensation in my cock is gone. He removes his hand and places it flat against my abdomen, drawing me even further onto his erect penis, grinding his thighs into my butt. "I haven't come yet. I'm not ready yet. How much longer can you stand this, can you bear me in you?" He breathes against my ear.

"I don't know." I whimper. "Hurts..."

"Yeah..." He thrusts, angling up against my prostrate making me gasp. "And it feels good too, doesn't it?" He draws back again, thrusts again. "Well?" he asks.

"Yes. Feels good too..." I pant.

"Mine..." He seizes my hips and pulls me so tight against him that his cock is thrust even deeper inside me. He's so hard, so big that I'm losing my bearings. It's just me and his arms holding me up, his cock within me, claiming me, filling me, owning me. Then he reaches a frenzy, tossing me around like I weigh nothing, pulling and pushing at me, sliding deep inside me and out, pushing back in so fast I don't have time to catch my breath. I hear him shudder and then he roars as the orgasm claims him, holding me tight against his chest again, his sweat mingling with mine, his stubbly cheek rough against my own. It's a primal roar of sheer sexual release. A sound of victory, ownership, triumph, pleasure.

We kneel there for a long time, he holding my body tight against him, kissing my neck, nuzzling me, his arms wrapped tight around me. Then he just drops me. He doesn't say a word, withdrawing from my battered, sated body and going to the bathroom. I feel empty, drained, totally and absolutely fucked. Fucked all the way up my ass and down all the way into my soul. I've never felt such emotions before, never experienced something so raw and savage and entirely without mercy. I've never surrendered myself to anything so completely or paradoxically felt so safe. It just felt right but him leaving me doesn't. I want his kisses and his reassurance. I don't want to feel like I was just a body to him, someone on whom to take out his anger, his need to possess. I can hear him washing himself, as if he wants to get rid of the scent of me. He's gone a long time and when he returns to the bedroom his face is hard and closed and he's wearing a long robe, hiding himself from me. He goes and sits down in the chair, a long way from me, not even looking at me. I feel as if I'm an object of disgust.

"Sir?" I can't stand it. I feel lost, alone when moments ago during that frenzied coupling I felt as if I belonged to someone, was part of something. He flinches when I go and touch him.

"Don't." He shrugs.

"Why not? Shit, why the fuck not after what we just did?" I ask, feeling hurt. He shakes his head.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I hate it when I...when I lose it like that."

"But I wanted you." I take his face between my hands and kiss him on the lips. "I really wanted you, Walter."

"Fox." He attempts a smile at our first name terms. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back. Shit I should have said no. I shouldn't have got us into this."

"I told you to go ahead. It was...unbelievable." I exhale heavily.

"But I hurt you," he says wretchedly. "I never wanted to do that. If I hadn't lost control it could have been gentle. You would have enjoyed it more."

"Walter, believe me, I couldn't have enjoyed it much more than that." I shake my head. "I suppose I wanted to make you lose control. I wanted to be taken, owned like that, in that way. Raw, no holding back. Naked lust, total abandonment. It was a turn on." I shrug and wince, bites now vying with welts for their place on my pain threshold.

"Shit." He puts his arms around me and kisses my hair, burying his face in it. "Shit this just makes it worse."

"Why?" I ask, holding onto him, pulling him up and leading him back to the bed, pushing him down and wrapping myself around him, facing him, looking into his eyes.

"Because now I really won't be able to stand to let them touch you. It was bad enough before but now you're mine, really mine, no pretense. Now I'll have to work even harder to keep myself under control."

"Well you've always been good at self-control. Unlike me." I laugh. He grins.

"Yeah. Never your strong point. Unless I can beat some sense into you." He wraps me up tight in his arms, his muscles hard against my flesh.

"I'm yours, Master." I tease. "You can do what the hell you like with me."

"Don't think I won't," he grunts, kissing me gently. "Don't damn well think I won't, Fox."

END OF PART TWO

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TITLE: Subterfuge 3/4  
AUTHOR: Xanthe  
RATING: NC17. Mulder/Skinner  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Skinner go undercover in the gay S/M underworld in order to solve a case and find out some surprising things about themselves.  
SPOILER: Some general references. Nothing specific.  
Usual disclaimers apply. These characters don't belong to me but to CC (although I suspect that I show them a better time than he does. They certainly get a LOT more sex), and I don't make any money from them.  
Massive thanks to Holmes for the excellent beta reading and title.

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Subterfuge  
Part Three

He falls asleep. I think I'd like to talk, but he just wraps his arms around me, sprawls a big thigh over my leg, and within seconds he's asleep. He's heavy, but I don't want to push him off - I've only just gotten used to having him this close. I relax and breathe in the scent of him, re-living the way it felt to have him holding me up, having him whisper "mine" in my ear, owning me. I've always been a free spirit. I hate being tied down. I never thought I might have the need to belong to anyone before. This makes no sense, and I'd like to believe that it isn't true, but he's left irrefutable evidence of it on my body, and seared into my mind.

I try to rationalize this weird turn of events, but it's hard. There's nothing rational about this. I'm Fox Mulder, the FBI's most unwanted, a thorn in the side of the man who's lying next to me. I've been a pain in the ass to him from the moment I was assigned to him. My methods of investigation are too unorthodox, my choice of cases makes him despair, and he hates signing off my reports. I've pushed him too far, too often, but the psychologist in me can see this as a cry for attention, of forcing him into controlling me, dealing with me, getting physical with me. No wonder he was so angry earlier. Five years of self control, five years of being cool, of restraining me every time I got some fucked-up paranoid fantasy in my head. Five years of saving my ass, clearing up my mess, watching as I danced around trying to get him to notice me. And five years of me wanting him to lose that control but never realizing it. Wanting to provoke him into doing something, anything, to show me what I was and give me what I wanted. No wonder he thought I was a tease.

I don't think it was an accident that on those occasions when I lost it, it was to Skinner I directed my subconscious cries for help. When I was freaking out on hallucinogenic tap water spiked courtesy of the Consortium, he was the one I took a swing at, not Scully, not any of the Lone Gunmen and not any of those irritating "suits" at the FBI who always hassle me and mutter "spooky" as I pass by. No, him. I wanted him to save me then and again many times after that. That time when I thought I was going crazy, seeing monsters, drawing my gun - he was there. He was the one I wanted to rescue me, to make me sane again. And of course I wanted to save his butt as well, not that he ever thanked me for that, ungrateful SOB.

I can't handle being labeled. I don't like labels of any description, but I'm having an especially hard time with the homosexual, gay, even bi, labels. So I'm not even going to think about that. Oh god, if there's one thing I want to think about even less than the gay label, it would have to be the submissive label...the one that stamps "Property of Walter Sergei Skinner" all over my psyche. There's no way I can get around that one either. I just know that, now my eyes have been opened, I don't ever want them to close again, and I damn well hope he feels the same. At some point during all this turmoil, I fall asleep.

When I wake up, he's already showered and dressed, wearing some of those clothes Saunders provided for him, clothes I know he'd never wear in his normal life - a pair of black pants, a black cotton shirt, open at the neck, no tie. He looks different, stunning, satanically imposing, and generally inspiring the adoration of lesser beings at his feet.

"You're awake." He glances over at me. "I've been thinking."

"Me too." I murmur but it turns out that he's been thinking about something else entirely.

"However crazy this place is, there is nothing going on here that has so far made it obvious who our murderer is. We have no evidence that a crime has been committed on these premises - although I'm not sure that we couldn't make a case for assault in regard to that man in the Zone. Still, the mural depicting that bullfight, the presence of those bull symbols on the dead bodies and the clearly cultist and ritualistic elements of this community are enough to convince me that our murderer is here, somewhere. More likely than not, Saunders ordered the murders. It is highly probable that there are many others here, Matt for example, who have helped him conspire to commit murder, and have executed his orders. We must face the possibility that, at the very least, all of the members of the Mithras Circle may be guilty of aiding and abetting the coverup of these crimes. We need to find out more about them. Even though our team wasn't able to tail us, they're definitely going to be working on tracking us down. They know Saunders, so they'll be able to get some good leads from that alone." He's stabbing his fingers into the air as he makes all his points, his mind totally focused on what he's saying. "It may be enough for us to just sit tight, find out as much as we can about this, and wait to be rescued. Since we're being watched, and the penalties for being discovered where we shouldn't be are...unthinkable, I don't see that we have any choice but to keep our eyes and ears open and hope that we don't have too long to wait. Any questions?"

He gazes at me expectantly.

"Just one. When are we going to have sex again?" I ask, because frankly that's the only thing on my mind.

He's still for a moment, staring at me coldly.

"Come here," he says finally. I shiver at his tone, obeying him, kneeling down naked at his feet without even thinking about it.

"You'll get all the goddamn sex you can handle," he growls, his hand kneading my shoulder as he looks into my eyes. "Just don't let it interfere with your judgement, or your ability to keep yourself alive. I need you to do your job here as well, Mulder. Indulging in erotic fantasies when you should be trying to solve this case will seriously piss me off. Your sex life does not, I repeat, NOT, get in the way of your work. Understood?"

"That's not going to be easy." I murmur and his fingers tighten on my neck. His eyes are fierce and irritated.

"Well I've been exercising self control for five years so I think you can attempt it for five minutes." He says. "Work - play. Two separate things. Screw up on that, and I'll make you regret it big time. The gloves are off now, Fox," he adds. "I've had to conduct myself in a professional manner due to our working relationship. Shit - I always knew that if I ever lost it with you and treated you the way you wanted, hell, the way you seemed to crave, that I'd be thrown out of the Bureau on a harrassment charge. Now, however, things are different. There are certain things I just won't tolerate. And don't pout. It doesn't work with me. Get up, get washed and get dressed. We have a job to do."

"So - no more sex?" I ask and he growls and cuffs me playfully in the direction of the bathroom. Just my luck. I discover I like something and then find it's only going to be doled out to me by someone else on their terms. Typical.

The shower washes away the sweat and blood and the scent of sex but not the memory of that primitive, raw, coupling. Nothing could erase that from my mind. I find the bite marks on my chest and ribs and finger them, remembering how they were inflicted. Then the one on my butt - which is so deep that I can make out the edges and contours of it without being able to see it, and I can feel myself becoming hard as I recall the sensation of being held down and marked by his teeth. Shit, not again. I turn the temperature of the water down to lukewarm, (I can't face freezing cold) but it's not enough to dampen my erection, and I have to jerk off again. That's three times in one day. I hope this isn't going to become a habit or if we ever do get back to real life, then I'll need to find excuses to visit him in his office every few hours. What was it he said about not letting sex interfere with work...? I'm not sure I have his willpower.

It's late - I think we missed lunch but dinner is being served in the main hall. Saunders glances at us as we enter and then looks at us more keenly. I can see his eyes raking approvingly, almost lustfully, over the bite marks on my body and my bruised lip. I find myself taking an absurd pride in the way he's looking at me. I love the fact that Skinner has marked me, that there is visible evidence of our wild sexual frenzy on me and that he's made the status of our relationship clear and plain for them all to see.

For his part, Skinner has noticed Saunders looking as well, and he straightens up, flexes his arms subconsciously, and grabs my shoulder.

"Go serve." He grins, and I run off to join Nick and the other slaves, bringing over the meal. We have more confidence in these roles now, both of us. Matt was right about us holding back, but not any more.

I bring him his food, see that his glass is kept filled, and kneel obediently next to his chair, waiting to be fed. Not that this is exactly the way I see myself conducting our relationship if we ever get home, (trust me, it isn't!) if, indeed, we have a "relationship", but it doesn't feel so humiliating any more.

"I'm glad to see you eschew alcohol, Mr Skinner." Saunders comments smoothly. "You'll need a clear head for later."

"Why? What happens later?" Skinner asks.

"Eleven p.m. In the arena - you remember, the large room with the sand on the floor?" Saunders says. "Bring Fox. There's been quite some interest in him after his little display in the massage room earlier today."

"I told you before, nobody is going to touch him." Skinner puts a hand on my head and strokes my hair, softly.

"Then you'll have to make sure of that, won't you?" Saunders allows his eyes to travel over me, once again lingering on the bite marks on my body - particularly the one over my nipple.

After dinner, coffee is served in the library.

"Watch your back." Nick whispers to me as we follow on behind the tops. "They like to have some fun with us after dinner. If you don't like the idea of that, make sure you don't screw up."

"Thanks." I nod, grateful for the warning. Skinner takes his seat in a plush armchair, and I immediately sit down on the floor beside him, determined not to move for the duration of the evening. Nobody is going to have an excuse to do anything to me.

"Gray, I believe you are on duty this evening." Saunders nods towards the whipping post and Gray, a thin, sinewy man with wispy dark hair, smiles and takes up position next to a cabinet. He opens it up to reveal a huge array of whips. "Are there any punishments scheduled?" Saunders asks.

"Yeah. Brad was slow helping me get changed earlier." Matt is sitting with his feet up on the huge oak table. Saunders looks coolly at Matt for a moment and I sense a tension between them. It's hard to pinpoint exactly what it is, but I realize that Saunders despises Matt and I suspect it's for the same reasons that Skinner does. Saunders has shown himself to be smooth and cultured. I have no doubt that he can also be cruel and ruthless, but so far I haven't witnessed him indulging in any acts of brutality - unlike Matt. I sense that Saunders comes from a very different school of sadists. It's not a value judgement, I hate both the bastards. In fact in some ways Saunders is the more frightening, because of that civilized veneer. At least Matt's brutality is obvious and unsubtle. You know where you are with him.

"Very well." Saunders nods. "Nick - go and find Brad. Bring him here for punishment." Nick runs off, and a few moments later, he returns with the hapless Brad. I'm surprised to see that Brad is shivering and appears to be afraid. I'm not sure of the dynamics here. Are they supposed to enjoy this or what? Is it a "scene", is Brad getting off on pseudo-fear or is he genuinely afraid? Brad kneels down in front of Saunders, his head bowed.

"There's been a complaint." Saunders says, stirring his coffee. "About your service earlier today. Do you wish to speak?"

"No, Master." Brad looks up, glancing at Matt with real fear in his eyes.

"Very well. Ten I think. The crime isn't too serious." Saunders waves his hand, and Brad looks relieved. A light of anticipation has appeared in his eyes so I guess he isn't that worried after all. Gray beckons him over and gestures him to undress, then ties him up to the post, fastening a cuff on each of his wrists.

I bury my face in the side of Skinner's knee and refuse to watch. I don't know if Brad is going to enjoy this or not, but I sure as hell won't. Yeah, call me a big wuss, but this stuff scares me shitless. It wasn't so bad witnessing this sort of crap at Krypton, but here the threat is implicit and real, and I don't know how far it will go or how bad it might get. Skinner puts a hand on my head and smoothes my hair, rubbing my head and neck constantly with a firm, gentle caress. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Saunders watching me with an intrigued and amused look on his face. Brad screams after each lash, and I can feel myself flinching in time with the blows. Skinner's hand never leaves my head. Finally, it's over, and Brad is allowed down. I find myself staring at the lash marks on his back and buttocks with a fascinated horror, but it doesn't escape my notice that he's been turned on by the whole event.

"You can return to the pen now, unless anyone wants to use you, Brad." Saunders looks around the room questioningly, and one of the tops steps forward and gestures Brad over, drawing him away to the other side of the room. I try not to watch. I'm distracted instead by Nick, who has gone to get Saunders another cup of coffee. He's crossing the room when Matt puts out a foot to trip him. Nick goes flying, and the coffee ends up splashing over Saunders's shoes. He yelps, and looks around crossly. Matt sits back in his chair, a malevolent grin on his face.

"Looks like Goody Two Shoes has slipped up," he remarks. Nick's face is anguished. He grabs a cloth from the tray and wipes the coffee off Saunders's shoes.

"Sorry, master." He mutters, and I'm surprised to see that he has real tears in his eyes. The dynamic between Saunders and Nick is a complicated one, but I think it's based more on service than punishment. I sense that Saunders relishes his power over his slave, and the fact that it derives less from fear or sexual role play than from love and of course Nick gets off on his obedience. He genuinely wants to serve Saunders, and he doesn't want his master to be angry with him, for whatever reason. There are no marks on Nick's body - I sense that Saunders rarely finds it necessary to punish him. Saunders shoots another cool glance at Matt, realizing who has been behind the incident, but there must be some rule I don't know about in play, because despite clearly not wanting to punish Nick, I know he's going to anyway.

"Nick." Saunders says softly. "I want you to go to the cabinet and bring me an implement. Any implement you want." Nick nods, swallowing convulsively, and nobody could miss the wide grin that is plastered all over Matt's features. He notices me staring at him, and the grin becomes a leer. It's hard for me to resist an impulse to just get up and leave, or to shout out and tell them what a bunch of frigging psychos they are. I find myself sitting up, about to point out the inherent absurdity of this ludicrous society, when Skinner's fingers dig into my neck warningly. I glance at him, and he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

Doesn't he see it too? Doesn't he want to stand up and say: "Hey, a cup of coffee got spilt. No big deal here!"? Maybe he does. His fingers are stroking my neck urgently, trying to distract me, to calm me. The whole room watches with interest as Nick selects a strap, and returns to Saunders's chair. He unbuttons his jeans, and slides them off, before kneeling once more, putting the strap in his mouth and offering it to Saunders who takes it and gestures to his knee. Nick arranges himself over his master's knee and now I can't stop myself smiling because it looks so absurd! Shit, it makes me want to scream with laughter but my grin soon fades. For someone whose heart isn't in it, Saunders certainly delivers a hard enough beating, and Nick is swiftly reduced to tears and a series of strangled sobs. Perhaps I'm wrong, perhaps they're both enjoying themselves. Perhaps Matt is a valued member of the community for creating little diversions and thinking up excuses for mass punishments. Perhaps I'm missing the point in all this - they're probably all grateful to the bastard. Oh fuck, I don't know. I don't understand the rules, and I feel helpless at the mercy of these people. I just want to go home. I want to be alone with Skinner, in my apartment or his, and I want to feel his hands on my body making love to me again. I want to explore this new relationship in a less threatening environment.

The beating seems to go on forever, and I want to turn my face away but something keeps me watching in horrified fascination. Nick's buttocks are now covered in dark welts and I don't even realize that I'm trembling until Skinner suddenly gets to his feet in the middle of the beating and clears his throat.

"If you'll excuse us," he murmurs. He clamps a hand on my shoulder, which stills my shaking, and gestures me to follow him, which I do eagerly.

Saunders stops mid-stroke and looks at us.

"You have an hour, Mr Skinner," he says. "Your presence in the Arena at 11 p.m. is not optional."

"No. I'd sort of figured that out." Skinner nods. "I'll be there, but in the meantime, if you have no objection, I'd like to rest."

"Of course." Saunders shrugs but his eyes have a glint of some knowing amusement. I realize that he thinks we've both been turned on by the evening's activities, and are returning to our room to enact our own version. Nothing could be further from the truth. Even my newly insatiable desires have been dampened by the events I've witnessed.

"Thank you." I whisper to Skinner when we reach the safety of our room.

"It's all right. I didn't like it much either." He is silent and subdued, sitting down on the bed with a sigh. I go and sit beside him and we stare at the floor glumly. Then he turns my face to his and kisses me with an infinitely tender softness. "I'm not like them," he murmurs in a strangulated tone.

"Hey, it's all right." I can sense a very real misery in him. "I'm not like them either in case you hadn't noticed. Not like Nick or Brad or any of the other 'slaves'".

"Yeah, thank god." He grins. "I don't think I could stand all that fawning all the time. And I've always hated "yes" men. I like people to have minds of their own to keep me interested, and let's face it; you sure as hell have a mind of your own."

"Oh yeah. Nobody could argue with that." I wish we could stay in this room forever and not face all that craziness again but I know we can't. "Are you worried - about what will happen in the Arena?" I ask him.

"No. Apprehensive maybe but I don't think it takes an Einstein to figure out what will be expected of me tonight."

"No. Now please tell me that you regularly attend those FBI self-defense refresher courses."

"Yeah." He grins. "Although, frankly, I think that an offensive strategy will be more useful than a defensive one this evening."

"You think they fight dirty?"

"I'd lay bets on it. Not that it matters." He shrugs. "I can fight dirty too."

"I never doubted it for a second. Scully told me that you once took on an informant of mine - X, and you won. That impressed me. I took a swing at him once and wished I hadn't. He was one mean son of a bitch."`

"The information I required on that occasion was...an incentive." He smiles softly, and touches my face. "But not as much of an incentive as there will be tonight. Don't worry, Fox. I won't let any of them so much as lay a finger on you."

I shake my head. "I can fight my own battles."

"Not against this mob," he says wearily. "Remind me how we got into this again?" I look up, opening my mouth to splutter another apology or a protest, only to find that he's grinning at me. He grabs me, and pulls me down onto the bed. I rest my head on his chest, and he strokes my back and we neither of us says a word as we lie there for the next half an hour, relishing the peace, the company, and the comfort. Finally I feel him glancing at his watch over my shoulder and he gets up, disengaging me.

"Once more into the lion's den," he murmurs, stretching like a cat.

"My hero." I grin slyly, and kiss him hard on the lips. "Just so you remember what you're fighting for." I tell him when we come up for air.

"I won't forget. Trust me. After all it could be worse." His mouth twitches in wry amusement.

"How's that?" I try to think of any way in which our situation could be worse than this.

"Well, if we hadn't reached our, uh, new understanding earlier this afternoon, then I could be about to do all this fighting without even the hope of getting to enjoy the spoils." He looks me in the eye, completely stone-faced.

"Spoils?" I pout.

He puts a finger over my lip and grins. "You're starting to look like Lenny!" He says and then runs for the door, getting there just in time to evade the pillow his outraged piece of property has thrown at his retreating back.

The Arena has been lit by flaming torches of real fire which give it a demonic, gladiatorial glow. All the subs are here, and there's quite a crowd of them. I count at least 30, which is double the number of tops. They're standing in a circle, eerily lit by the flickering torches. There's an ominous wooden post sunk deep into the sand at the far end of the circle. Saunders saunters over to us and smiles at me, in that patronizing, creepy way he has.

"Fox - go and join Nick." He orders, and I hesitate and glance at Skinner - a gesture that isn't lost on Saunders whose face reflects a slight flicker of annoyance. Skinner nods, and I see Nick standing at the far end of the room and go to stand beside him.

"You okay?" I murmur.

"What?" He glances at me, confused, and I gesture with my head in the general direction of his butt. "Oh that. Yeah, I've had loads worse in my time." He grins. "I bet you have too. Your master doesn't look the sort to take much crap."

"He doesn't beat me." I say, softly.

"What, never?" Nick looks surprised.

"No." Fuck the pretense. I want to inject some normality into this place.

"You ought to ask him to one day then." Nick grins. "The pain of a whipping can be intensely pleasurable. Mind-blowing."

"I'll take your word for it. You didn't look like you were having such a good time of it earlier though," I remark.

"I wasn't." Nick shrugs. "How can I describe the difference to you if you really don't know, Fox?" He stares at me, looking genuinely perplexed. "Aaron can do what he likes to me, whenever he wants. He's earned that right. I'll submit to the worst beating in the world if he wants to deliver it. That's just symbolic of my service to him - I won't necessarily enjoy it but that doesn't matter. Once, early on, he whipped me so hard for so long that I thought I'd die, but it was just his way of making me understand who I belonged to. I wasn't so obedient then - I was trying to play games with him, make him jealous. I never tried that again, believe me. But..." He pauses and his eyes go dreamy. "There are times in private when he'll make it a pleasure. He knows the way my mind works, and how to get me in the mood. Then it's like nothing on this planet, Fox."

"What about Matt?" I ask, seeking a distraction from this fascinating, but to me inexplicable conversation. I search the Arena for my nemesis, my eyes sweeping around the room, but not seeing him. "He set you up this evening. How do you feel about him?" Nick hesitates, clearly not sure how to reply.

"Matt likes to enjoy himself with us." He answers at last, in an even tone.

"He's a fucking bastard." I respond, seeing no reason to collude in his neutrality.

"He can be harsh." Nick agrees. "But one or two of the subs here have a thing for him. Some people like their pleasures raw and at the outer limits of painful."

"What about Aaron?" I ask. "What does he think of Matt?"

Nick hesitates again, biting his lip thoughtfully.

"Matt has challenged Aaron a couple of times," he tells me. "Not because he wants me, but because he finds Aaron's strength a threat."

"And who won?" I ask, finding this whole subject as compelling as it is weird.

"Aaron of course." Nick gives a small shrug of pride. "Nobody's ever defeated him in any of the challenges. And Matt isn't as good a fighter anyway. He's too much of a bully, not enough of a strategist. It angers him that Aaron's the only man here he hasn't defeated."

We're distracted in this bizarre conversation by Saunders stepping into the center of the Arena. He holds up his hands and a silence falls onto the room.

"We have a new player." Saunders beckons Skinner forward. "You know Mr. Skinner and his slave, Fox." Nick nudges me to take a step forward and I find myself being stared at by the assembled company. "For the sake of Mr. Skinner, I'll go through the rules." He turns and looks at my boss with a sly grin. "There are no rules!" He laughs, and a ripple of mirth travels around the room, but there is a grim, anticipatory hunger to the sound. I'm disturbed by some of the looks I'm getting - predatory and lustful. The flickering of the flames makes the atmosphere even more threatening, and I sense a mood of collective insanity descend on the Arena. Normal rules of behavior have ceased to apply. I'm in the sewer with the rats now, abandoned in the heat and sweat of the jungle, feeling like a sacrificial victim.

"The Arena is open for one hour." Saunders says, waving his arms around like a showman. "Each fight is to end only when one or other of the combatants surrenders. Let anyone challenge as they so desire." He grins at me, and I glance around, holding my breath as I catch sight of Matt in the shadows, but he doesn't move.

"I'll challenge." A slender, wiry man walks into the Arena, and I release the breath I've been holding. The challenger is at least 5 inches shorter than Skinner and doesn't have his bulk. He doesn't stand a chance.

"Who do you challenge?" Saunders asks.

"Skinner." Surprise, surprise.

"Can anyone be challenged?" I ask Nick. "I mean it's not just Skinner who has to fight is it?"

"No." Nick whispers. "But, to be honest, Fox, you've drawn attention to yourself, and caused some interest. I think you'll find a fair amount of the challenges going to Skinner. And of course tonight's just the beginning. There's another session in the Arena scheduled for tomorrow night."

"How many..." I begin but I'm interrupted by Saunders beckoning me forward. Another sub is also entering the arena. I cross to where Saunders is standing.

"Go and help your master prepare." He orders, and I notice the other sub is stripping the shirt off his master, and rubbing him with some sort of oil.

"What's the oil for?" I ask Skinner, doing the same, following the other sub's lead.

"My guess is to make us slippery - harder to wrestle with. Plus, I suspect that making our bodies glisten adds yet another unnecessary touch of melodrama to these proceedings," he grunts sourly. "Shit, you can smell the fucking testosterone can't you?" Our preparations are being watched by hungry eyes that devour our every movement.

"How do you feel about that rules crap?" I whisper, taking a liberal handful of oil and smoothing it over his body until he's gleaming. Damn but he looks good shiny!

"Fine. There weren't any rules in 'Nam either." He replies with a shrug. "I can hit below the belt with the best of them." He's starting to snarl and I'm surprised by the darkness in his eyes, and the way he's breathing, until I realize he's psyching himself up for this. I hope he can come down easily afterwards. I don't relish the idea of calming some wild, rampaging, adrenaline soaked bull in our room when this is over. Bull...hmm, the analogy is apt given the ritual associations of this cult. And of course you'll notice I have no doubts as to the fact he'll be successful this evening. We will be going back to our room together when this is over. I refuse to contemplate any other outcome. Skinner takes his glasses off, and hands them to me.

"Can you see without them?" I ask.

"I can see better without them than I can with them smashed into my face." He shrugs.

"Good point." I slip them into my pocket. "Shoes aren't allowed." I notice the other sub divesting his master of his shoes as the man glowers at Skinner, flexing his arms theatrically. Skinner sighs, and shakes his head. I kneel down and undo his shoes and peel his socks off, while he engages in some he-man stuff with the other guy, both of them staring each other out.

"Shit, you don't suppose we have to fight butt naked do you?" He asks. "That would be too sick even for these guys wouldn't it? Please, tell me it would, Fox."

"Fuck, I don't know. I wouldn't put anything past them. But no, I think you might be spared that indignity." I glance at the other top. "He doesn't look as if he's taking off any more clothes."

"Thank god for that." He breathes in deeply.

"You won't have any problems with him. He's too small," I murmur, trying to bolster his ego. I make a silent vow to work on my mindless adoration skills later.

"Yeah - but he might be fast. I'm, uh, not really." He shrugs.

"But you've got amazing stamina - right?"

"Oh yeah. Hell, I've put up with you for five years haven't I?"

"That's my boy." I grin, and wipe the rest of the oil off onto my jeans. "Kick ass, boss."

With all the preparations over, I'm ordered back into the center of the Arena again. Saunders grabs my wrist, and before I know it, I'm wearing a leather cuff which he fastens to the post at the top of the circle.

I can feel my face flaming in anger and humiliation, but there's nothing I can do, and my situation is not any worse than Skinner's is right now. The other sub is fastened next to me, and he grins at me - a greeting I don't have the heart to return. God, if I look half as stupid as he does, then I just pray somebody kills me now. With my luck, the Consortium is videotaping me AS fucking usual, and is already selling copies on QVC...I can see the promotion for it..."The Quantico Slave Boy Toy and the Butch Daddy Boss Who Kicked Ass to Nail Ass" Video, only $24.95....See the hot, new previews on next on Jerry Springer." My fellow captive is still grinning at me, as if to say "Aren't we just too cute for words?" Yech. We're a couple of trussed up, half dressed babes, the spoils of war, on display, and to the victor goes all...Wait! To the victor goes all? What a revolting thought. I glance at my fellow captive with renewed interest. Does this mean that Skinner gets to keep him if he wins? Over my dead body. Still, I suppose it's only fair that if Skinner stands the chance of losing "possession" of me, then his challenger puts up something of equal value. It's so exquisitely, crazily sick that I want to laugh hysterically at it, and I would if the danger weren't so very real and immediate.

I try and think back to how it's possible that I'm standing here, half-naked and tied to a post, while my boss is having to fight for me. Whatever happened to aliens and UFO's and conspiracies and all the normal lunacies of my life? When did this new madness take their place? Is it me? Do I attract insanity like some sort of loco-magnet? Hey, it's Mulder, throw some crazy alien shit at him. Yeah, okay, now some genetic freaks. Yeah, that's the ticket, but it's getting boring. Hey, how about a wacko bunch of sado-masochistic fruitcakes who want to get a piece of his ass? Yeah - and while we're at it, throw in a steamy love session with his boss to really screw around with his head. Thanks guys, whoever you are - you omnipotent, fate-fixing jokers are having some cosmic sized fun at my expense. I owe you fuckers, big time.

"Let battle commence." Saunders smirks at his own crass cliche and withdraws from the Arena. I find that I have a ringside view of the proceedings, and hold my breath as Skinner and the other guy circle each other warily for a few moments. Then the other guy launches himself at Skinner who side-steps him easily, and lands a good body punch. Skinner is right though - this guy is quick, and he's soon dancing around stabbing these little punches at my boss and then darting back before Skinner can retaliate.

Skinner takes a few hits to his chest and face, and then starts to get really mad. The next time the guy comes towards him Skinner feints a left, and then snarls and launches himself bodily at his challenger, throwing the guy to the floor, sitting on him and pounding his fist into the man's face a couple of times. A satisfied gasp goes up from the assembled crowd as it becomes obvious that Skinner has won.

"Over..." the other guy gasps, trying to wriggle out from under Skinner and failing. "Over!" He taps Skinner's thigh with one of his fingers. "Challenge over." Skinner gets up triumphantly, and I find myself sagging against the pole in relief. Skinner and I exchange a wordless glance The whole thing was wrapped up in less than 4 minutes. Quick work, boss. Nick appears beside me and unties the other sub, leading him to one side before coming back to release me. Then Saunders move to the center of the circle once more.

"Any other challenges?" He asks. A tall, slender, black guy moves like a dangerous panther into the Arena. I'm instantly at Skinner's side bringing him some water, thinking the whole nightmare must be nearly over, but in fact it's only just begun. The black guy makes a show of examining the available slaves - I think it's all part of the psyching out process that these freaks indulge in, and then he strides up to Skinner and points.

"You." He hisses and the whole thing starts up all over again. Skinner gets oiled down, I get tied to a post with some other poor bastard and then we watch as these two grown men slug it out over our half-naked slave-boy bodies. Just another hard day at the office. Skinner wins this one, and the next one, but by this time I'm getting anxious.

"This isn't fucking fair." I complain to Nick. "Is he supposed to fight everyone here? It's not a challenge, it's a goddamn free for all."

"Like Aaron said, there are no rules." Nick shrugs, but he's frowning as well. "To be honest, Fox, we've never had a challenge evening like this one before. Usually the fighting is very mixed - Aaron once fought 3 people in one session before, but that was the highest number of challenges that one top has fought. I told you that you'd drawn attention to yourself. The tops all want to try you. You've got to admit that you've shown off. First all the insubordination, then that sublime massage. I'm not surprised that they're itching to subdue you, and then be on the receiving end of your loving attention."

"This is my fault?" I stare at Nick open-mouthed.

"Well it sure as hell isn't your master's fault is it?" He grins at me. "Don't worry about him. He's fighting well. He can keep going."

"He's only goddamn human." I stride over to Skinner with some more water. He's got a bruised jaw, but luckily his eyes are unharmed. I can see some bruises starting on his ribs but Nick's probably right. He can keep going - but for how long? I remember what Saunders said - something about the Challenge lasting an hour.

"We're about half way through." I tell Skinner. "Can you keep going for another half an hour?"

"Re-phrase that in a way that makes it sound like I have a choice." He grunts, wincing as I wash some blood out of the cut on the side of his face.

"Feeling in need of a pep talk are we? Well, let's see. You've fought off half these guys already. You're bigger, fitter, smarter, stronger, a lot better looking..."

"Yeah, all right." He shakes his head wryly.

"And I bet you've got more packed away where it counts as well." I continue.

"Hmmm - this flattery is working." He breaks into a grin. I slap some more oil onto his body, and return to the post once more with a heavy sigh.

Two more fights take us to nearly five to midnight. I cross my fingers, hoping they'll end it there. Skinner is breathing heavily, and I'm not sure he can take any more. A mood of menace has fallen over the Arena. Skinner is like a bloodied bull, weak and open to attack. Nobody could have fought better or longer, but he's vulnerable right now. None of these guys are exactly useless with their fists either - he's taken some heavy body blows. I can feel the way the pack is baying for his blood, wanting to see him defeated, wanting to see me slung into the sand and made to submit, to be visibly subdued, to be punished for my attitude, my arrogance and my temper. The torches have burned down, making the room darker and more threatening than ever. I can barely see the next challenger as he walks into the center of the Arena and challenges Skinner.

"Last one." Nick whispers to me as he unties me. "Tell him that. The last one."

Skinner is breathing far too heavily for my liking, and he looks a mess.

"Nick says it's the last fight of the evening." I take his head in my hands, and try to get him to focus on me.

"Yeah." He manages a weak grin. "But have you seen who it is?"

"Who?" I turn and my heart sinks.

"Matt," Skinner murmurs. Matt is being oiled up, his pristine skin unmarked by the bruises that now liberally adorn Skinner. He sees me looking at him and smirks.

"The bastard waited until now before challenging - he knew he didn't stand a chance against you when you were fresh." I'm seething, and about ready to go over there and take care of Matt myself when I catch sight of Saunders. Before Skinner can stop me, I find myself grabbing Saunders's arm and turning him around to face me.

"This is a fucking set-up." I snarl. "Skinner's taken all the challenges this evening. It isn't fair."

"Life isn't though, is it?" Saunders smiles and then glares pointedly at the hand I have on his arm. I find myself removing it. "You really don't want to anger me, Fox." He says dangerously. "I'm quite satisfied with the slave I have already but I might decide to make a pitch for you myself one of these days. How would you like that?" His face is angled to one side, regarding me keenly.

"I don't belong to anyone but Skinner." I tell him evenly. "And this "challenge" is a heap of shit. Stop it now, Saunders."

"I can't." Saunders shrugs. "Matt issued the challenge before the hour was up. Skinner has to respond. It's the way Mithras functions at its most basic level, Fox. If a man has a particularly desirable slave, he has to be strong enough to keep him, even if that means having to do a lot of fighting. Of course I can see why you'd be concerned." Saunders flashes me that creepy grin and glances over my shoulder at Matt. "I would be too if I were you. You really shouldn't have upset Matt so much when you first arrived. He's just itching to get his fingers on you. He's been polishing his crop all evening. Cross your fingers, Fox - because if Matt gets his hands on you then I'd hazard a guess you'll be one docile slave by tomorrow morning. Docile - and well marked. I look forward to seeing those marks at breakfast tomorrow. That's if you can still walk." He laughs out loud at his own macabre sense of humor. "Of course, Matt is an exhibitionist so it's possible that he'll throw you in the sand and take you immediately upon his victory with all these witnesses. I do hope he does. I enjoy watching." Saunders chuckles again at my outraged expression and then turns his back on me. I return to Skinner, seething inside at the injustice and the way we are being forced into accepting every piece of shit these people hand out to us.

Skinner is getting his breath back, taking a long, deep drink and doing some stretches.

"I'm not finished yet, Fox." He says. "Don't write me out of this contest before it starts."

"You could beat him with one hand tied behind your back." I state in a feeble and transparent attempt at showing a confidence in him that I'm not sure I feel.

"No, you're the one that gets to have all the tying up shit done to you." He grins. "I get to have my brains beaten to a pulp by mindless wackos while you just have to stand around looking pretty. Some guys get all the luck."

"Kismet." I grin back. "I was born prettier than you so I get the slave boy option." I'm trying to joke but somehow, I don't think it's a good idea to mention to him at this point that the only top here who has beaten Matt is Saunders. That wouldn't be a good psychological place to be coming from in a fight like this.

I return to the post once more for another session with the handcuffs, only this time I'm even more scared shitless than before. I really don't want to watch Skinner getting the crap beaten out of him, but I'm only human, and at least some of my concern is saved for myself. I don't want to be raped, and I don't want another taste of Matt's riding crop. I can't see how Skinner can be expected to defeat Matt after all the fighting he's done tonight. My fingers are crossed, and my heart is pounding in my chest as the two men begin to circle each other. Matt is about the same height as Skinner, but not as broad; however he is sinewy and obviously well toned. He's clearly a formidable opponent.

Matt feints forward and then drops back, then repeats the move again and again, making Skinner snarl with angry frustration. Finally Matt follows through, taking Skinner by surprise, and landing a solid blow to my man's jaw. Skinner just shakes his head, and keeps moving. He's like a goddamn ox, charging on regardless. Matt goes through the same dancing, darting crap as before, wearing Skinner out even more, before landing another good punch to Skinner's ribs. Skinner lashes out and manages to get a blow to Matt's face before Matt skips out of reach, but even so, it isn't a very convincing shot. Matt is definitely ahead on points. The whole circle can see that Skinner is tired. A low humming sound starts, full of menace, repeating one word with a pounding rhythm: "Kill". It's whispered over and over again and the sub tied up with me to the stake backs up against me, his eyes wide and scared.

"What's happening?" He whispers. I recognize him from breakfast - he's the kid Matt made eat from the plate on the floor.

"I don't know." I find myself reaching out my free hand to comfort him, and we both stand there looking dazed and scared. The crowd has turned ugly. They want Matt to win; they want Skinner to drop, to finally be defeated. They want one of their own to be the victor, to bring this outsider down, and trample him into the sand. Then they want to see me raped and subdued, finally brought into line. Buoyed up by the sound, Matt shrieks a war cry, and launches himself at Skinner, bringing him down with one blow to the midriff, striking him another on the face, kicking at his shins, and then pinning my boss to the ground with his body. I see Skinner glance at me over Matt's shoulder, and I close my eyes, unable to watch. When I open them again, Matt is delivering one final, decisive punch to Skinner's head. My boss, my lover, falls back onto the sand, out cold.

"Yes!" Matt stands up, raising his arms in the air, a look of triumphant glee on his face. He turns towards me, and I actually hear myself whimper. He's looking at me with those Nightmare on Elm Street eyes of his, and I know that I haven't got a chance. He's crazy, full of bloodlust, and it's me he wants to vent it on. I tug blindly, frantically, at the cuff around my wrist, trying to escape; knowing it's hopeless, twisting to get as far away from him as possible. He grins and pursues me, grabbing my shoulders and pulling my head against his for a sweaty, revolting kiss. I kick him, pulling away, ducking under him, but he just grabs me again, his hands closing around my neck as he yanks me back up.

"I'm going to share my victory with you all!" Matt yells, putting one arm around my chest while he holds onto my neck with his other hand. "Watch and enjoy!" He laughs, his free hand moving down to the front of my jeans, as he starts to unbutton my fly. His breath is hot against my flesh, and my stomach is heaving so much that I think I might puke. At that moment, I feel him forcibly wrenched from me, and I twist around just in time to see Skinner headbutt Matt across the bridge of his already crooked nose.

Matt lets out a squeal of pure pain, and Skinner lands another satisfying punch to Matt's stomach and then, standing up straight, he takes aim, and kicks my assailant squarely in the groin with as much force as he can muster. Matt curls up, and whimpers in agony. Skinner stands over him, takes a fistful of his dark hair, and pulls his head back.

"I don't believe I said that the challenge was over." Skinner growls. "Did I?" Matt shakes his head, still whimpering. "So-your-victory-celebration-was-premature." Skinner punctuates each word with a savage punch to Matt's body. "Wasn't it?" He shakes Matt bodily as if he's a rat.

"Yes..." Matt manages to pant out.

"And the words you're looking for are?" Skinner waits patiently, his fist drawn back.

"Challenge over." Matt gasps. "You win, Skinner." Skinner nods and smiles, and starts to put the bleeding Matt down, and then casually, as if as an afterthought, delivers one last brutal punch to Matt's face. When he flings Matt back into the sand, the guy doesn't even move. Skinner stands up stiffly, glaring around the circle, and I see the grudging respect in the eyes of the other tops. Skinner walks slowly over to Nick, and holds out his hand.

"Give me the key." He says. Nick stares at him blankly, still lost in the drama of the moment. "I said, give me the goddamn key!" Skinner snarls, and Nick snaps out of it and obeys. Skinner comes over to me and undoes the cuff.

"What is it with you and last minute rescues anyway?" I hiss under my breath.

"Nag, nag, nag." He shakes his head. "Didn't your mom teach you any manners? Like when to say 'thank-you' maybe?"

I don't have a chance to reply because Saunders is coming over, a look of immense approval on his face.

"So, Mr. Skinner - you've turned out to be a worthy addition to our little circle." He smiles. "I do hope you enjoyed yourself this evening."

"Enjoyed...?" Skinner looks dumbstruck. Saunders nods - he's quite sincere.

"The roar of the Arena, the smell of the fight..." He murmurs, his face almost orgasmic with pleasure. "There's nothing like it, is there?"

Skinner puts his glasses back on and nods thoughtfully.

"No. I can honestly say it's like nothing on this planet." He agrees with a sidelong glance at me that suggests he thinks that Saunders is definitely one french fry short of a happy meal.

"And of course you deserve your reward." Saunders grins. "I hope you still have some energy left to enjoy it, Mr. Skinner." He clicks his fingers, and a troop of subs is ushered over. I recognize them as my various companions-of-the-post. "All yours." Saunders smiles. "You won them, fair and square."

"All of them?" Skinner casts his eyes over the little huddled crowd of be-jeaned slave boy specimens.

"That's right." Saunders shrugs.

"Don't even fucking think about it." I murmur to Skinner under my breath.

"Well..." Skinner pauses and peers at the assembled subs with a show of interest, and I'm pretty close to landing another punch on him to add to the ones that he's already taken this evening. "I guess I'll have to take a rain-check." He says at last with a regretful sigh. "I think I've already got my hands full with the slave I've got. I don't need any more trouble."

"Wise move, boss." I mutter. "All right, guys - back to the pen or wherever you sleep. He's mine, and he doesn't want you, so get lost. Now!" They back off, startled by my tone, and I notice Skinner is starting to sway. "Come on." I take his arm, and sling it around my shoulder.

We make our unsteady way out of the Arena, and back to our room. As soon as we get there, he collapses onto the bed.

"You stupid, crazy, bastard." I disappear into the bathroom, and start filling the man-sized tub with hot water. "Playing dead like that. Nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack."

I return to his side, and start easing his clothes off him gently, undressing him like he's a kid. I can't resist kissing him all over as I do so. He's so weak and pathetic right now that he can't protest; even if he wanted to.

"Well I knew I wasn't going to beat him in a fair fight." He mutters, leaning against me as I undo his pants, his heavy head on my shoulder. "Matt's greedy, he's got too big an ego. I knew that if I made it look like he'd floored me, he'd go straight over to claim you. I just had to time my recovery to make sure that I had the element of surprise. If I'd gotten the timing wrong he would have had me."

"Well he nearly had me instead." I mutter pulling his pants off and his briefs so that he's naked. "Oh shit, listen to me. I'm an ungrateful bastard. I was just so damn worried. I wasn't sure how badly you were injured. I couldn't even see if you were still breathing. Damn, I wish you'd let me in on your plan."

I pull him up and half walk, half carry him into the bathroom. I help him into the bath and take off his glasses as they steam up. He leans back, his eyes closed and I get my jeans off, and slip in beside him, pulling him over so that he's reclining between my legs, resting his head on my chest while I kiss his scalp. I find the soap and gently rub it over his chest and down to his groin, running my fingers along his cock because, frankly, I can't resist.

"Yeah, like I have the energy for that," he mutters.

"I'm not asking you to do anything." I nibble at his ear. "I'm just playing. I have to make the most of it when I have you vulnerable and at my mercy don't I? It doesn't happen that often."

"Good point." He smiles, his eyes still closed, his face etched with weariness.

I hold him, stroking him, whispering to him, and kissing the side of his face, letting us float there for nearly an hour until the water starts to get cold. He's like a baby in my arms, totally relaxed and zoned out, just enjoying the caressing and attention.

Finally, I haul him out of the tub, wrap him up in a towel, and walk him back into the other room where he lies down on the bed.

"I'm just tired. I'll be okay," he whispers, seeing the anxious look in my eyes as I hover over him.

"I'll put something on your injuries. God knows they've provided us with a big enough first aid kit." I get the kit, returning to the bedroom with it, and smoothing some cold gel over the bruises and cuts on his body. His face isn't too badly marked, apart from that cut on the side of his jaw and a couple of bruises. I'm grateful for that much - and for the fact that he managed to duck out of the way of the couple of punches that would have damaged his eyes. His knuckles are grazed and bruised and look pretty painful, so I put a light dressing on them. He submits to my clumsy medical attention, and then rolls back under the sheets. I slip in beside him, and cradle him to me, loving the feel of his ass against my thighs, my ankles draped over his, his muscular back pressed tight against my chest.

"Did I say thank you?" I murmur, feeling his breathing deepen and his body relax.

"Do you ever?" he answers.

"What do you mean? Of course I...What are you talking about?" I bristle.

"Well, there was getting beaten up in a stairwell over that stupid DAT tape. There was taking delivery of a known felon, and storing him for you in my apartment - to say nothing of all the "there goes the guy who likes handcuffed young men" gossip that abounds in my apartment block as a result. There was rescuing you from faraway locations - on more occasions that I can even begin to think of right now. There was deciding NOT to suspend you despite numerous instances where it was the only sane thing to do..."

"Yes, all right, I get the point. Did I forget to thank you on all those occasions?"

"Mulder, you never thank me." He points out, his speech slurred and drowsy.

"I could make up for it now." I disappear under the sheets and find his cock. I've never done this before but how hard can it be? Yeah, I know he's tired, but too tired for a blow job? I know I never have been! I'm right - a few licks and nibbles and he's hard, thrusting into my waiting mouth, and I decide that Fox Mulder - slaveboy does actually have some talents after all. This is fun! His cock tastes of bath water and salt, and essence of Skinner, and I'm just dying to see what his come tastes like, which may be sick of me. I don't know. I don't know anything any more - all my certainties are gone. Anyway, he comes soon enough under my expert mouth and tongue and I like the sensation of swallowing him down. Mmmm! Yep, finger lickin' good, that's what he is. I don't even allow so much as a single droplet to mess up the bed, and I lick him clean afterwards. Slut-Mulder, that's me, the fastest tongue in the west.

"How was that?" I ask, returning to my former position behind him and drawing him close again.

"Well, that took care of the DAT tape thing, but you still owe me for the rest of it. Somehow I think it's going to take you a long time to pay off your debt. Looks like indentured servitude is in your future for some time to come."

"Aw. Shucks." I grin, nuzzling him shamelessly and he lets out a small barking laugh. "What?" I ask.

"You. For the last five years you've been dancing around like a prissy kid making me admire you from afar, always skipping just out of reach and now you can't keep your hands off me."

"Why stop at hands?" I stick my tongue in his ear, and he waves me off, feebly.

"Mulder. Let me sleep. Please." He says beseechingly, and with some reluctance, I do as I'm told. See, I can be obedient, sometimes.

I don't go to sleep. Instead I wait until I'm sure he is sleeping, and find myself gazing down on him. He looks like a battle-scarred lion, bloody, bruised, and unbowed. I suppose I know what I'm going to do. Maybe I've known since my conversation with Nick earlier this evening, when he told me that there's been another challenge scheduled for tomorrow evening. How long can Skinner keep taking this kind of punishment? I know he said to stay put, find out what's going on, and wait for the "team" to rescue us, but I don't have a lot of faith in the prowess of the "team." I guess I'm just used to relying on myself. I get up, and get dressed quietly, "borrowing" a pair of black pants, and one of his black shirts from the wardrobe, and putting on his sneakers, and then slip over to the door. I try the handle but somebody has clearly visited while we were in the bathroom, because it's been locked. I get a wire coat hanger and twist it around before inserting it into the keyhole. This is a talent I picked up during my misspent youth, and that's all you need to know about it.

It takes about 5 minutes to pick the lock, and all the time I'm holding my breath in case he wakes up. Somehow, I know he won't approve of this - maybe I'm psychic. When the lock finally gives up the ghost, I go back to the bed and kiss him gently. With any luck, I'll be back with help before they even notice I'm missing. Yeah, right, my attitude makes a lot of sense. After all I've had so much luck in my life. Okay, okay, so most of it's been bad. I freely admit that I'm delusional. I slip out into the corridor, and head off in the direction of the Bat Cave, but I'm soon lost. When I was there last, I had more important things on my mind than the layout of the place, so my memories are hazy at best. Unsurprisingly, somewhere along the line, I take a wrong turn, and end up outside the slave-pen. I tiptoe past as quietly as I can, and down to the end, turning into yet another corridor. Damn, but all of them look the same.

I hear someone laughing, and duck into a side passage, holding my breath as one of the tops walks by, his arms loosely wrapped around a giggling sub. When they've passed, I edge out into the main corridor again, and along to another dimly lit passage. The corridors are becoming more rough-hewn now, which is how I remember it. Finally I end up in a dark cavern, completely unlit. I remember the musty smell. The Bat Cave! I feel my way along and then slip, tumbling head first down some roughly hewn stairs carved out of rock. I make one hell of a racket, and hold my breath as well as I can, considering that I'm winded, but nobody comes to investigate. I manage to find where the cars are stored - there are about 10 cars here, all big limos, neatly parked. The exit is covered by a solid metal sheet and I run my fingers all over it, trying to find the garage door opener. At last I locate a switch mechanism to one side, and press it and...holy shit! All hell breaks loose. A bright light comes on, a siren begins to sound, and literally within 5 seconds, I find myself face to face with a guy holding a gun.

My stomach is churning as I'm pushed along the corridor at gunpoint. The guard stops outside a door and knocks on it. It's opened by Nick who takes one look at me, and then his eyes pop out of his head. He opens the door wider, and goes to wake Saunders up. It's fair to say that I'm starting to quake by this time. Saunders is definitely not a happy camper about being woken up at this hour. He gets up, allowing Nick to help him into his robe, then comes over to look at me. He grimaces at me as though I'm something he's stepped in, leaving him with the unpleasant task of scraping me off of his nice, new Gucci loafers.

"So, Fox. Trying to abscond? And after we showed you such hospitality as well," he murmurs.

"Yeah right. You're a bunch of frigging fruitcakes." I splutter. Call me unwise. It's been done before and not as politely so I'm used to it. Saunders is clearly torn between hitting me and laughing. Luckily, for me he does the latter.

"This is what always amuses me about you, Fox." He says. "No matter how bad your situation, you still try to fight it. Nobody could ever accuse you of being a quitter."

"Oh I'd be happy to quit. Believe me." I tell him. His mood changes abruptly.

"Does your master know that you're loose?" He asks.

"No. He's still asleep." I shrug, desperately hoping that we can keep Skinner out of this.

"Well, let's take this conversation to him shall we?" Saunders smiles. That forlorn hope of mine is therefore dead in the water.

Saunders and the guard usher me along the corridor, and back to our room. Saunders politely knocks on the door, and then enters when there is no reply. He turns on the light, and Skinner sits up blearily. He runs his hand over his eyes as he takes in the situation.

"Oh shit." He mutters.

"It would seem," Saunders smiles. "That we have a little discipline problem, Mr Skinner."

"Yes. I'll take care of it." Skinner gets out of bed wearily and pulls on his robe.

"That isn't acceptable." Saunders says. "Community rules have been broken. We take the matter of runaway slaves very seriously. The punishment is quite severe." He gives me a gleeful look of anticipation and I close my eyes, remembering the Zone.

"He isn't a runaway." Skinner tells Saunders urgently. "It's part of our game. Isn't it, Fox?"

"What? Yeah." I've lost the plot. All I can think of is that poor bastard in the Zone with all those goddamn attachments on his body.

"Your game?" Saunders questions.

"He runs. I hunt. I've given him permission to run whenever he wants - it makes it more interesting if I don't know when it'll be." Skinner improvises wildly. Saunders stares at him for a moment, and then nods.

"I'll accept that. However, he chose an unfortunate time to play. And he was well and truly caught in a trap this evening so he's failed. As community rules have been broken, we'll need to see him punished."

"In what way, 'punished'?" Skinner asks warily, and I cross my fingers behind my back. Not the Zone, please not the Zone.

"A public whipping." Saunders smiles at me. "30 strokes seem acceptable." 30? I want to choke. "You can administer the strokes yourself if you like, Mr Skinner. After breakfast tomorrow morning in the library. Or, if you prefer, I'm sure there will be no shortage of volunteers to perform the punishment. I know that Matt takes particular pleasure in such things. It's entirely up to you. I don't care who does it, only that it is done, and that the other subs see that it is done. Runaway slaves are very much discouraged in this establishment, Mr Skinner."

"I can believe that." Skinner murmurs. "And if I refuse to allow this punishment to take place?"

"You can if you wish." Saunders shrugs. "But if you do then the matter will be taken out of your hands, and we will have to remove Fox forcibly to the Zone in order to oversee the punishment ourselves."

Skinner's eyes meet mine and he sighs again and rubs a weary hand over his forehead.

"It would seem that I don't have a choice," he says.

"I'm glad we're agreed then." Saunders smiles. "Good night, Mr. Skinner. And to you, Fox." He shakes his head with exagerrated, sarcastic regret as he considers me, chuckling to himself and then he turns on his heel and leaves, locking the door behind him again.

"You know." Skinner says carefully when we're alone. "I could have sworn that I sat in that chair only a few hours ago, and made it very clear that you were not, under any circumstances, to try to escape."

"I can explain." I sigh, throwing myself down on the armchair in question. "There's another Arena session scheduled for tomorrow night. I thought you might not be fit enough. I thought it was worth the risk."

"And you didn't tell me about this little plan because...?" he prompts.

"I knew you wouldn't approve."

"And therefore?"

"You'd have stopped me."

"And if that had happened?"

"We wouldn't be in this mess." I bury my head in my knees.

"One of these days you'll follow my orders, and then we might just live to be old men and die in our beds." He comes over to me, and ruffles my hair with a sigh. "Hey, come on." He kneels down beside me, and wraps his arms around me. "You'll be okay." He kisses my head, holding me close.

"I fucking won't. I knew these bastards wouldn't be happy until they got to lay one of those damn whips on my bare ass. I'm fucking well up shit creek without a paddle."

"You're really scared of this aren't you?" He tries to still my trembling with his warmth and strength, but I'm too damn afraid.

"Wouldn't you be?" I snap.

"You've faced mutants, taken gunshot wounds, been attacked and assaulted. This is no worse," he says soothingly. "Don't think about it."

"I can't do that. These people scare the shit out of me. They've looked for any excuse to beat me senseless ever since we've been here. They won't stop until they totally dominate and subdue me. I've never been more scared in my life."

"And you think that they'll have won if they finally get to hurt you the way they want to?" He takes my head between his hands and looks into my soul.

"I don't know if I'll be strong enough not to give in. Yes." I admit.

"So they might be able to force you into a submission you don't feel in your heart?"

"Yes."

"They can't. Whatever they say or do won't make any difference. You'll know the truth. I'll know the truth."

"What truth?" I ask him, still shivering. "I don't know the truth myself any more. What truth will we know?"

"Only one." His dark eyes are like glinting spheres of pure jet. "That you belong to me."

"And what more do I need to know?" I whisper.

"Nothing. That's all that's important." He hisses fiercely.

"Then you have to..." I begin, closing my eyes, scarcely daring to ask.

"What?" He runs his thumbs down the side of my face.

"You know what. You can't let Matt touch me, or any of the others. If I must be beaten down, if I must be subdued, then you've got to be the one who does it."

"I don't want to..." he begins, his tone strangulated, backing way from me, a dark pain in his eyes.

"No. But you have to anyway." He gets up, thinking about it, and I watch as he paces around the room for a moment.

"Please. I won't submit to any of them. I can't. Please." I find myself saying softly. "If it has to happen, it has to be you."

"Why?" He comes back to me and stands in front of me, his hands on my shoulders.

"Because I trust you and I don't trust them. I don't want them hurting me."

"But it's okay if I do?" His big hands knead my neck, his expression distracted and disturbed.

"Yes. It's okay."

"Don't ask me to do this, Fox." He says, wretchedly.

"You have to. Like you said, I'm yours. It's a two way street, this responsibility isn't it?"

His eyes snap up to meet mine, acknowledging the truth of what I've just said. "Of course," he murmurs softly.

We're silent for a long time. Maybe I've fucked him up by my request, but at least, selfish bastard that I am, I'm not as scared any more. Don't ask me for my professional, psychological evaluation. I know, you'd think that Abnormal Psychology degree would be useful for something. Maybe it's just a matter of me having already submitted to him as my boss and as my lover that makes it possible for me to endure this final humiliation at his hands in a way that would be unbearable from anyone else. I trust him and besides, he'd never cross the line with me, and truly hurt me."

"Have you ever, um, done anything like this before?" I ask him as it suddenly occurs to me that I know nothing about his previous sexual exploits.

"No. What the fuck sort of life do you think I've led?" He demands.

"Well I don't know. I don't know anything about you on a personal level do I? I thought you were my straight arrow boss, and the next thing I know you're flinging me onto the bed, and we're having rough sex, and you're confiding that you only let yourself go with other men. How many other men have there been?"

"Not many." He grunts. "I was happy in my marriage for a long time. I'm not saying that I didn't occasionally fantasize about losing control, being with another guy, but life is about more than just sex. Most of the time I was busy with my job. I certainly never felt any attraction to the gay scene - let alone the S&M fringes of it. I don't understand the fascination with stuff like this." He gestures at the cupboard full of whips. "Any power you need to obtain through using threats like these is meaningless - just for show. If I had to tie you to my side, and beat you to keep you there then where's the power in that? Only a bully or a coward needs those trappings. Sex games are a different matter - I can see how people might get off on using the contents of that cupboard as erotic props, but not at this level, not the way they're used here." He throws himself down on the bed, his arms behind his head and I stare at him for a long while, fascinated by him, and what he is saying.

"Lenny said that you had the soul of a top," I murmur. "I think I know what he means now."

"Oh Lenny's full of shit." Skinner grins across at me. "I'll admit there's something erotic about the exchange of power - you needing to give yourself up to me and me needing to claim you. I admit that, but we're equals. Nick and Saunders are equals too, although I'm not sure either of them understands that. They're both getting what they want from each other."

"You seem to have more of a handle on this shit than I would have imagined." I go and lie next to him on the bed, my head on his lap. His fingers find my face and he strokes me softly.

"I do. It's instinctive. Men play games like this all the time - only usually they're competing for status or women or even money. You were different. I noticed that straight away. You didn't play like the other guys but it took me a long while to figure out where you were coming from. You're my counterpart, Fox. We fit each other. These people have reduced the concept to dom and sub but it's a lot more complex than that. That's just playing at it. We've lived it. "

"Yes." I say simply because it's the truth and I don't care that it's a freaky concept any more. Five years in denial is long enough for anyone.

"And I may have threatened you because I needed to keep you under control to stop exactly this sort of thing happening, but I have never wanted to hurt you."

"Are you sure?" I grin up at him, teasing him. "Lenny said you had the patience of a saint, and must be itching to throw me over your knee and give me a good spanking."

"Oh, yeah. Well I've wanted to do that, obviously." He grins back.

"What?" I sit up, outraged.

"Everyone wants to do that, Fox." He pulls me back down again. "It's a standard response to you, and I've had to suffer some of your worst excesses, so I think I'm entitled."

"Everybody?" I look at him, startled.

"Oh yeah. You know that guy with the dark hair from internal investigations? The one I have to call in every time we do an inquiry on you?"

"Yeah." I can picture the guy, the one who once asked me why I was so paranoid.

"Well sometimes when we're having one of our usual heated discussions about you, he'll slam the palm of his hand down on the desk over and over again, and I have no doubt at all as to what is going through his mind. I can empathize with that."

"Shit. Everybody..." I say, still appalled by this concept.

"Yeah - take Scully for example. She must have hairbrushes and slippers with your name on them in her apartment. I bet sometimes after you've ditched her in yet another way out location, she goes home, puts one of the throw cushions from her couch over her knee, takes aim and..."

"No!" I laugh out loud at the mental image this conjures up.

"You think I'm kidding?" He holds me down and kisses me. "Dream on then, Fox. Dream on."

His arms are a comfort, and he doesn't let go all night. I try not to think about the morning. I guess there's a small section of my brain that is convinced that we'll be rescued by the team before my date with destiny in the library. I'm woken up by him undressing me - I had fallen asleep still fully clothed in my "escape" outfit.

"What time is it?" I murmur.

"Ten." He whispers.

"What about breakfast...?" I try to get up but his arms are heavy, holding me down.

"I don't think either of us is hungry. We have an hour before we need to be in the library. Let's make the most of it."

There's something different about him but I can't put my finger on what it is. He finishes unbuttoning my shirt, and then moves on to my pants.

"I'm not in the mood." I tell him, pushing him away, feeling a pit of nervous fear opening up inside me. I roll off the bed and go to the bathroom for a piss, returning to find him sitting on the side of the bed, a strange, thoughtful expression on his face.

"Come here," he says, beckoning, and I do as commanded. "Kneel down." I find myself between his knees, and he takes my head in his hands and looks deep into my eyes. "Do you trust me, Fox?" He asks.

"Yes. With my life." I shrug.

"Good. Then I need you to do something for me, something you'll find hard."

"What?" I tense and his fingers soothe me.

"I need you to give up everything to me and I need you to follow me somewhere you don't want to go."

"I don't understand." I'm transfixed by the darkness in his eyes and the hardness of his hands against my face as he holds me too tight.

"Yes you do. You're mine." His hands move away from my face and down to my shirt. He pushes it off my shoulders, and it slides to the floor. "I can do what I like with you." He kisses me behind the ear, and I feel my body responding despite myself. "Can't I?" He whispers, his hands on my fly, unzipping, removing my pants. "Well?" He urges insistently.

"Yes." I can feel myself drowning when he talks to me like that. I've forgotten about the library, about everything but him, and the way he smells, and the way he's kissing me. I'm hard before he's even got me fully naked, and he drags me bodily onto the bed.

"Listen to me then." His voice is low and gruff and throaty, and so damn sexy that I'm transfixed. I can feel his hard-on digging into me, and my own cock is stiff and ready. "I'm not giving you any release yet. You can't come unless I tell you that you can. Do you understand?"

"Yes." I moan, feeling his lips pressing against the back of my neck, gentle despite the vice-like grip he has around my body.

"I mean it. You have to do that for me. It's important."

"Yes. Okay." My breathing is coming hard and fast and as far as I'm concerned, there's just him and me in the whole goddamned universe at this point.

"Good. There will be a reward for that, Fox. Trust me." He loosens his grip, and his fingers find my nipples, fondling them gently. "But you'll have to wait for the reward. It'll be later, much later - and better than anything you can dream of."

"What is it?" His questing fingers are still playing with my nipples, and I groan and lean back against him, trying to impale myself on the hardness I can feel in his groin.

"Not yet. I'll tell you later." His lips travel down my back, and his hands stay on my chest, their caress insistent, endless, sending shivers of heat through me. I can't stand the pressure in my cock, and I move my hands down to touch it. His own hands go into action immediately, stopping me before I get there, holding my wrists tightly in front of my body. "No." He says firmly. "Obey me."

"I want to..." I whimper.

"You must. If it's too much, then I can tie you, but I'd rather you obeyed me because I asked you to."

"I'll try." I feel as if my whole body is a sensitive mass of receptors. My skin shivers at the slightest touch of his lips or fingers. Every part of me has been turned into an erogenous zone. "Give in to me," he whispers, his fingers playing me like a violin, plucking at my strings to make the most beautiful music.

"I do. I have..." I lie back against him, and feel his fingers inside me, thrusting. "Fuck me." I whimper, and he laughs.

"Beg me," he whispers, his fingers insistent, teasing my prostate and making me sweat with pleasure.

"Please, please. Fuck me. I'm begging you..." I put my hands behind me, trying to find his hard cock, and pull it into me, but he just grabs them and puts them back in front of me, holding my wrists tightly again.

"I really will tie you if you keep doing that." He whispers, and for some reason that just makes me even more desperate for the sensation of him within me.

"Please, please, Walter, Master, Sir, whatever, please..." I groan incoherently.

"Good boy." He nuzzles my neck. "What are you?"

"Yours. Your slave, yours to fuck senseless. Just do it, please..."

His fingers are removed, and I gasp from their loss, wanting to feel him, any part of him, inside me.

"Serve me then." He says, turning me around, handing me a condom. I shiver to touch that magnificent hard cock. Although I'm rapidly becoming familiar with its contours, it still renders me breathless. I slide the condom smoothly over it, marveling at his control. If he touched my cock right now, I'd be gone. He hands me the lube, and I slather that over his dick. I can see a vein pulsing along his jaw, and there's a heat in his body that makes me appreciate Sharon's crack about hooking him up to a generator. I can see him being able to provide the power for whole cities when he's like this. "Now lie on your back." I stare at him quizzically for a moment, and his dark eyes meet mine, insistent and demanding. "Don't be slow, Fox. Obey me." I do as he says, watching as he looms over me. "Put your legs on my shoulders. I want to be able to see you when I fuck you. I want to see the expression in your eyes." I shiver, my whole body screaming with erotic tension, and I obey him immediately.

He places his hands under my buttocks, stroking them, and pulling them apart teasingly as he inserts a finger, then slips it out, making me moan in frustration. Then I can feel the heat of him as he closes on me. His hands move swiftly, pulling my buttocks apart without warning, and once again, I experience that first exquisite moment of pain as he gains entry to the tight ring of muscle in my ass. After that he slips in smoothly, maneuvering to slide himself fully inside me. His hands grip me around the waist, and I long for the timed thrusts of yesterday, for the touch of his hand on my cock, pumping me in time to the movement of his hips, but it isn't forthcoming. Instead he grinds his whole body into me, pulling me up against him. The sensation is so breath-taking that I can't stop myself touching my cock, needing the sweet release of orgasm but again he stops me. His hands grasp mine tightly, and he slams them down beside my body, holding them there. "No," he says, thrusting into me, making me whimper. "How would you like to do this?" He asks. "To be inside me?"

"I don't...you'd let me...?" I try to undersand this.

"Yes." He thrusts again. "If you obey me. If you do as I say, if you don't come."

"I want to...I have to..." I can't stop myself whimpering at the thought of having to hold back.

"No. You can stop. For me. If you do I'll reward you - but only if you obey me in this."

I wonder what it feels like to be inside another man, the way he is inside me, and I find that I want to know, to explore, to feel the sensations that he is feeling.

"I won't come. I promise. I'll do everything you say."

"You submit to me?" He hisses. "Fully? Completely? Everything you are, everything you ever were or could be? All of it mine?"

"Yes. All of me. I submit." I yell, as his body breaks against mine, urgently pounding into me, robbing me of speech and coherent thought. His eyes are intense and he has me physically pinned down by his hands and mentally transfixed by his eyes. I can't move any part of my body, I can't break this spell we have between us.

"Hold onto that." He roars out his climax with a shout of pure sexual release as he did yesterday, and the sound of that, and the scent and heat of his body are almost enough to make me come without touching my dick. I cling onto the deal he just offered to me, the pact and the promise that we made. He doesn't withdraw and I can feel him soften inside me. This time he rolls me down under him, still holding me tightly and this makes me feel more owned than at any other time. He kisses me over and over again, then gently disengages our bodies. "Come with me." He gets off the bed and pulls me to my feet, taking me into the bathroom. My cock is still sticking out in front of me, begging for release as he slams me into the shower and turns the water on, adjusting the temperature to make it ice cold.

"FUCK!" After the heat of his body it feels like I've been whisked from the tropics to Antarctica and my erection shrinks instantly as my balls duck back inside my body for warmth. "Stay there." He grins. "And don't jerk off. I know you've done that before while you took your shower."

"How do you know that?" I ask him, startled. He grins in a feral way.

"I know you, Fox." He says, going to clean his teeth. When he returns to the shower, he turns up the temperature of the water, and gets in beside me. My dick immediately starts to harden.

"Stop that." He snaps. "You've got a while to wait yet."

"When?" I ask, handing him the soap, transfixed by the thought of what he's offered me.

"Later. After the library," he says and the mention of that makes my erection disappear immediately. "Wash me, dry me, dress me." He orders peremptorily, his eyes dark and unreachable. His orgasm hasn't brought him back to being the man I know from the office. He's still far away, demanding and rough. When he's like this I feel a need to tread very carefully, and I do as he says quickly and without question. He doesn't touch me as I dress him. In fact he hasn't caressed me since our love making session. Now he's so masterful that I almost fear him. I kneel down and help him into his socks and shoes and long for his hand to brush against my hair as it has done before, but it doesn't happen. "Get yourself dressed." He nods and I pull on the obligatory jeans and stand there, helplessly, abandoned to these barking commands. There's a knock on the door and my heart pounds inside me. "Come in." Skinner says, not taking his eyes off me. I find that I can't move away from that dark gaze. Saunders enters, with Nick beside him and Matt and one of the other tops close behind.

"Time, Mr. Skinner." Saunders smiles, but Skinner hasn't looked at him once. His eyes are still locked with mine. He comes over to me, and pushes me against the wall, finding my wrists and holding them behind me. I'm not sure that my legs will hold me up any more.

"Tell me," he whispers in my ear. "I want to hear you say it."

"I'm yours." I begin falteringly.

"All of you." He nods. "And what can I do with you?"

"Whatever you want, master."

"Good. You submit?"

"Yes. I submit." I feel weak and limp in his hands and only the pressure of his arms is holding me up.

"Excellent. Then come with me." He hauls me out of the room by the neck, pushing me in front of him up the corridor as he takes me to meet my fate.

I'm not sure what I'm feeling emotionally, I can only feel the heat of his body as he pushes me along. He doesn't once break contact with me, and I have a sensation of being underwater. Everything sounds muffled, out of focus, and my vision is a blur of hazy colors. I stop at the threshold of the library and stare, jolted back to reality. Everybody is here. All of them, gathered around to see me hurt and to watch me scream. The tops are seated in the armchairs around the oak table, and the subs are crowded against the bookshelves, and kneeling on the floor. I whimper and fall back, but Skinner pushes me forward again.

"If I want to hurt you I will." He whispers, his voice hard, but surprisingly gentle. "Will you be hurt for me, Fox?" He stands behind me, his arms wrapped around my chest, and I have that sensation of falling again. I don't want him to ever let me go.

"Yes." I reply, no longer sure what I'm agreeing to.

"Will you go to the limits of your pain for me?" He asks, whispering again.

"Yes." I can't see anybody else now. I can just feel the heat and hardness of his body against mine.

"And if I want to hurt you more than you can endure, will you let me do that too?" He wants to know, his thigh moving against my buttocks rhythmically, caressing me. I arch my neck, feeling the sweat starting to pour off me.

"Yes." I nod. "Yes, master. Anything." There is such a sweet pleasure in giving him this, in giving up everything to him, and letting him take over.

"You'll let me do that, just because you're mine and I want to?" His hands are on my wrists, holding them tightly, pressed against my abdomen. I'm limp in his arms.

"Yes." I hang there, totally in his thrall.

"Good. Kneel down." He orders and I obey instantly, staring up at him as he moves around to face me. He looks into my eyes. "There is only me and you here, Fox. Just me and you." My eyes flicker, knowing that we are being watched by dozens of pairs of prying eyes. "No!" His voice barks out, drawing my gaze back to him. "There is only me and you. Do you understand?" I allow my eyes to drown in his once more, keeping him in sight all the time, not letting my gaze drop for a second.

"Yes." I nod.

"Good. You've disobeyed me."

"Yes." I nod.

"But that's not why I want to punish you." His eyes are boring into me.

"No?" I wipe away some of the sweat that is soaking into my hair.

"No. I'm going to punish you because you are mine, and because I can. I'm going to punish you without requiring anything from you. Your submission I already have. Your body I certainly have. You lose nothing by capitulating to me. You can scream, you can beg, and you can cry. I give you permission to do all these. I want you to do all these. This is between us. A sign of your devotion to me, your willingness to serve and accept, and mine to you, a demonstration of my power over you." Shit. Those words give me a hard-on. Once more he's playing me like a violin. It's like he's stroking me with what he's saying, and it's working. I think I'd eat shit if he asked me to right now. He puts his hand under my chin and makes me stand, then kisses my forehead gently. "Go and get the whip and bring it to me." He says softly, and I wrench myself away from him, and stumble over to where one of the tops is standing by the post, holding a whip. I bring it back to him, feeling myself starting to tremble again. I hand it to him, and he accepts it, examines it thoughtfully, and then gives it straight back. "Look at it. Touch it. Feel it." He puts his hands on my shoulders, and I do as he says. It's black, leather, and heavy. It's not a display whip, or an item of erotic fun. It means business. He puts his hand over mine, and strokes both our hands along it. This reminds me of somewhere I'd prefer to be stroking, and my hard-on gets worse, pressing against my tight jeans. "It will hurt. But not more than you can bear. And you will bear it, for me. And afterwards, I will reward you, as I promised." He plucks the whip from my nerveless fingers. "Go to the post," he whispers, and I'm not sure I can breathe as I turn away from him and walk over to the post. I can hear somebody clearing his throat and then Saunders speaks.

"The slave will be naked. The punishment is 30 strokes."

"Shut the fuck up!" Skinner snaps. "He's mine. I will say how, and how many." I can't see what is happening but I don't hear so much as a murmur from Saunders, or anyone else for that matter. You could hear a pin drop in the library. Skinner comes up behind me again, and his hands move around my waist, unbuttoning my jeans, pushing them down to my ankles. I step out of them, aware of my erection, and flushing furiously. This should not be a turn-on. This should most definitely NOT be a turn-on. Skinner's cheek is against mine as he rubs his hand along my cock, gently, not hard enough to make me come. "Good," he whispers and I don't feel like such an ass for having a hard-on at such an embarrassing moment.

He picks up some leather cuffs from the table, and fastens one to each of my wrists, keeping his gaze locked with mine. "Remember what I said. Screaming, begging and weeping would honor me so you shouldn't feel ashamed of any of these things."

I nod, and he pushes me against the post, clipping the cuffs into place, stretching me up. His lips are against my neck, and he bestows a tender kiss on me that makes my hair stand up on end. Then he moves away, and I close my eyes, still able to smell the scent of him.

The first stroke is like being kissed by a streak of pure flame. It burns itself over my buttocks like a caress, and I can hear this primal scream escaping from my body. I can't stop it or control it. I hang there, whimpering, suddenly aware that this is just the first stroke; that there are 29 more to be endured, and I know, with an icy fear deep inside, that I can't bear it.

"One." Skinner says, and my whole body is tense waiting for the next. The whip makes a hissing sound in the air as it comes towards me. A split second later it strikes, like the sting of a scorpion, or the scratch of a lion's claw, raking a line of pure pain down my back, and ending over my left buttock.

"PLEASE!" I gasp, bouncing against the post.

"Two." His voice makes contact with me again, bringing me back down from the threshold of pain where I have been left stranded. I don't even notice the next few strokes - everything is rolled into one, a muddled mix of torture, and exquisite, burning, teasingly erotic agony. All I can do is scream, and I sure as hell do that, loudly, over and over again.

"Ten." He cuts through my screams, and then I hear him move towards me. His lips are on my neck again, kissing me gently, and I lie my head back on his shoulder. "You can keep going, can't you?" He whispers.

"No. No, I can't. I can't do it. You have to stop this; you have to stop now." I gibber frantically.

"Ssh." He soothes, his hand sweeping back my sweaty hair from my forehead. "You can keep going because I want you to," he whispers. "And you want to please me. You're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I can't..."

"Fox." His tone is patient, understanding, and utterly implacable. "I'll keep reminding you for as long as it takes. Who do you belong to?"

"You, but I..."

"And what can I do to you?"

I hang there limply, being drawn back down into that place where he intends to make me go.

"Whatever you want." I can feel my arms going limp in the cuffs, which are strong enough to hold my weight.

"Good. You're pleasing me. I'm proud of you." He kisses me again, and then leaves me. The next few blows are a dizzying whorl of pain, but I can feel a new sensation now. A warmth and heat and an almost delicious sense of helplessness, of belonging to him. His creature, to hurt, to love. His. I just repeat that in my head as the blows fall, and after another 10, he comes to talk to me again in that low, intense voice. I've lost touch with reality altogether now - I can't see anybody, or hear anybody else. It's just him, making me endure, and me, eagerly accepting whatever he wants me to. I'm still screaming - and begging and weeping just as he told me that I could, but I don't have any control over this. He's taken it all away. Finally, just when I'm sure that I cannot endure another single flash of that fire along my back and buttocks, leaping and kissing its tormenting, flaming caress through my body, it's over. I hear a breathless sigh pass around the room, and someone steps forward to undo my cuffs.

"Don't touch him." Skinner snarls, and then his hands are on my body, holding me up as he undoes the cuffs. I immediately drop to the floor like a stone weight in a pond, but he catches me up in his arms, and swings me up close to his chest, carrying me. "Don't fucking come near us." Skinner growls, and I see Saunders out of the corner of my eye. "You've got what you wanted." Skinner snaps. Saunders raises an eyebrow, but his gaze rakes over my body as I lie in Skinner's arms. Even exhausted and in pain as I am, I recognize some new emotion in Saunders's expression. He has never looked at me like this before.

"You two are a constant source of delight." Saunders murmurs. "Such a scene you played, Mr. Skinner. What a fine show you put on for us here."

"Get out of my way. I'm taking him back to our room if you have no objection." I think the whole room knows that it wouldn't be wise to object to anything he says at this moment. Saunders gives another urbane smile and nods, but his eyes never leave my face, and I feel a shiver of foreboding at the expression in them. He moves back, and the crowd parts to let us through.

"I can walk." I mutter as he carries me out into the corridor, swaying slightly under my weight. I remember all those punches he took last night, and struggle to get down.

"No, you can't. Shut up." He snarls. I don't protest again. He kicks our door open, and places me gently face down on the bed. He goes to the bathroom to find a washcloth and the increasingly invaluable first aid kit. The coolness of the water on my back and buttocks is enough to make me scream again. "Ssh." He presses the cloth firmly against my fevered flesh, his lips kissing at me the whole time in a way I start to find arousing. I'm surprised to find that, although my body is a mass of raw, tingling, pain, it has coalesced into something warm and not altogether unpleasant.

I roll over carefully, and press myself against him, kissing his lips urgently, pressing my tongue inside him. He submits to this, letting me explore him, and then allowing me to push him down on the bed, and begin to undress him. I feel light-headed, strangely divorced from reality, my burning body just making me even more eager for sexual release, flooding me with an erotic urgency that I would never have anticipated.

"What you said earlier...can I...? Now?" I lick his nipples, nibbling them, my tongue moving faster, my teeth biting him. There's a ferocious energy building inside me.

"Yes. If you want. Do anything you want. Fox." He takes my head between his hands. "Take it back," he whispers and I know what he means. I can feel my cock hardening and I wonder if I've been possessed by demons, slamming him down on the bed, kissing him, desperate to be inside him. He lies still, letting me do anything I want. I bite his nipples again, keeping one eye on his face to see if he will stop me in this savage caress, but he doesn't. He just lies there, accepting. I turn him face down throwing myself on top of him, ignoring the pounding blood in my brain as my body protests my fast movements.

I pause to try to put on a condom, but my shaking fingers can't manage it. I do manage to lubricate my dick though, before pressing myself inside him. Shit! This is a new, totally mind blowing sensation. I've lost track of what I'm doing, as once again, I'm pleasure and pain all rolled up into one. My body is on fire, my cock is on fire, and he's gone quite still beneath me, letting me sink myself into his waiting ass and the sensation of his tightness is milking me, making me come, before I've barely started thrusting. As my dick softens, so does my whole body. I roll off and lie beside him on the bed, both of us face down, side by side.

"That was quick." He mutters, with a sideways glance at me. "Wham, bam, thank you, man?"

"Shit." Is all I can say, giving him a tired grin. "Shit, shit, shit."

"I hope you enjoyed it." He kisses me softly on the lips. "Because that is not going to happen very often. Believe me!"

"Doesn't matter." I pant, wearily. "I think I prefer the other anyway, but that was good. It felt right for now."

"It was right for now." He smiles. "Now hold still while I rub something into your back." I can barely feel the cold gel he smoothes onto my skin. When he's through, he lies down on his back, and I snake over to him, lying my head on his chest with a contented sigh.

"It's been one hell of a morning," he murmurs.

"It's been one hell of a few days." I smile, tiredly. "I...I know I'm not very good at saying thank you, but what you did today...shit." I stare at him. "Shit, I'm the one with the degree in psychology, but you out-psyched me. You figured this whole thing didn't you, from beginning to end, while I slept last night?"

He shrugs. "You were so scared," he murmurs.

"Fuck." It dawns on me what it was about his behavior that seemed so strangely familiar. "Nick said that Saunders takes him to a place in his head where he enjoys being whipped. That's what you were trying to do wasn't it?"

"Not really. I just needed to make the whole thing less traumatic for you." He strokes my arm. "Did I do that?"

"Yeah. I'm not saying I ever want to go through something like that again, but when you do all that masterful shit, and speak in that tone of voice, I'm gone."

"I had sort of noticed that." He grins.

"So you'd better watch what you say to me in the office from now on, if you don't want me melting at your feet every time we have an argument over my expense account."

"Oh I don't know. It could be a useful weapon in my on-going battle to keep the Bureau from sinking into bankruptcy as a result of the X Files," he muses thoughtfully. "But first we have to get home." He lies back wearily and I notice again how hot he is. His face is flushed.

"Are you all right?" I put my hand against his forehead, and he brushes it away before I can touch him.

"I'm fine." He states firmly. "Just tired. Let's get some sleep."

It's late afternoon when I wake up, and he's still sleeping. My body pounds with a dull, throbbing ache that sends shooting licks of flame through me when I move. I sit up and stare down at him. There are several red bruises on his body and along his jaw, but I'm more worried about the flush on his skin. I take advantage of the fact that he's sleeping to place my hand against his face, and find that he's burning up. There's a faint sheen of sweat all over him. Of course it's hardly surprising that the events of the past 24 hours would have taken their toll on him, but even so, I'm worried about him. I get a cup of water and shake him awake.

"What's the matter?" He squints at me blearily, but I can see the wince that passes across his features as he moves.

"You. There's something wrong with you. Sit up." He does so cautiously and I notice the guarded look in his eyes. "What is it? You know what it is - what is it?" I demand, handing him the water. He drinks it down in one gulp.

"I didn't want to freak you out." He sits back against the headboard cautiously. "And I wasn't sure how bad it was - it was hard to tell while all that adrenaline was flowing. One of my kidneys was damaged in Vietnam. Occasionally, I get some pain from it. Last night someone got a punch in there. It's hurting me."

"Shit." I pull him forward, and see the dark bruise low down on his back.

"I don't think it's serious. I just need to rest and drink fluids. It'll pass."

"But tonight, the Arena..." I stare at him wordlessly.

"Yes I know." His eyes are uncompromisingly dark. "I think we have to face up to the fact that you might have a change of ownership."

I fight down a feeling of panic.

"What can we do?" I ask.

"Hope for rescue?" He shakes his head. "I'll still fight the best I can, and I promise I'll kill Matt before I let him get his hands on you - but one of the other tops might not be so bad. You could charm them." He manages a weak grin. "I'm sorry. I've let you down."

"No. No, this is my fault. Treasure this moment." I grin at him. "You won't hear me say those words very often!" We stare at each other glumly. This is the worst moment of this whole nightmare so far. "You did appoint the best guys you had to the team didn't you?"

"Yeah. Kendall's sharp. They'll be looking for us."

"What about another escape attempt?" I suggest.

"Over my dead body." He shakes his head. "I mean that literally. If something happens to me, then you're better off running again than waiting to see what happens next. But after last night, escape seems to be a poor option."

"Never mind." I shrug. "It's probably for the best. I mean you and me - back in DC, what the fuck sort of a relationship could we hope to have there?"

"I don't know," he says. "I can't even think beyond the here and now. I don't suppose we can go back to how things were before though."

"No." I kneel back on the bed, staring at him. "Look at us. We're fucking wrecks."

"No wonder only the strongest are allowed into this crazy hell-hole." He shakes his head grimly.

"Shouldn't we try to bring your temperature down? A cool bath might work."

I go and run the bath, and we sink into the tepid water gratefully.

"Don't worry about tonight," I tell him nobly. "I can handle this shit. So long as it isn't Matt, I'll be fine."

"It won't be Matt," he whispers. I jerk my head up to look at him.

"What do you...?"

"You know what I mean, Fox. It won't be Matt." His dark eyes are unreadable. "It'll be Saunders."

We sit there staring at each other with the truth between us. "He wants you now." Skinner shrugs. "You saw the way he was looking at you earlier. How would you feel if he...?"

"Stop it." I close my eyes and picture Saunders with his creepy, patronizing smile and cool ruthlessness. His polite, urbane exterior hides a heart of pure steel. "He's more dangerous than Matt, isn't he?" I whisper.

"I've always thought so, yes." Skinner's eyes haven't left mine. "But his brutality isn't mindless. He's a sane psychopath rather than a crazy one."

"That's even worse."

"If I were fit, I'd beat him. I might beat him yet." Skinner tells me. "But I want you to be realistic about this. I'm in bad shape right now. If you can find a way of wanting him, of letting him..."

"No. I can't." I tell him fiercely.

"You might have to." He pulls me over and nestles my hair under his chin. His feverish flesh has begun to heat the cool water. His lips suck gently at the welts on my back, his fingers running over them with infinite tenderness.

"I want to go home." I whimper pathetically.

"So do I, Fox." He whispers into my ear. "So do I."

END OF PART THREE

Friendly feedback always cherished at: 

 

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TITLE: Subterfuge 4/4  
AUTHOR: Xanthe  
RATING: NC17. Mulder/Skinner  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Skinner go undercover in the gay S/M underworld in order to solve a case and find out some surprising things about themselves.  
SPOILER: Some general references. Nothing specific.  
Massive thanks to Holmes for the beta reading which has been inspired.  
DISCLAIMERS: CC owns them. And I hope he tells them so, over and over again. I don't make anything out of them (I'm assuming that all the virtual slave boys I've been offered don't count...?).  
SUBTERFUGE - PART FOUR

11PM. Our witching hour. Our date with fate. The moment of truth. I'm counting each last minute as they pass until we get to it. By the time I get him out of the bath and onto the bed it's nearly 5pm.

"I'll get you something to eat." I tell him. He nods gratefully and I set off. I have no way of knowing if I'll be able to do this. Considering how regimented this loony bin is, eating between meals is probably a flogging offense, but, frankly, I don't give a damn. I track down Saunders in the massage room where Nick is attending to him.

"Fox." He smiles and beckons me over. "Have you recovered from this morning's little punishment?" He asks, sitting up on the massage table, his towel falling away to reveal a firmly muscled midriff. I can feel myself tensing at the way his eyes are traveling over my body.

Two can play at this game. I allow my gaze to wander over his body, in a frankly assessing and speculative way. He's older than Skinner, by maybe 5 or so years, and in very good shape. He has some sparse chest hair, (unlike my furry caveman!) in a mixture of white and brown, and his hips and legs are thickset. Solid. He's stockier than Skinner, shorter, more compact, a ram to my bull but equally dangerous. He's naked and unashamed of that fact, making no move to cover himself under my raking, disdainful gaze. By the time I've allowed that gaze to travel back to his sharp blue eyes, I notice how dangerously amused he is. His creepy smile is plastered all over his face. He beckons me towards him, and I move forward, cautiously. He's urbane, still smiling, and I relax a fraction, only to find myself swept forward over the massage table, with one of his hands planted firmly on my sore back. Much as I wouldn't like to give him the pleasure, I can't bite back the strangled cry of pain that escapes from my lips.

"Do you like what you see?" he asks pleasantly, as if discussing the weather. One of his hands twists in my hair, holding me still.

"I'm satisfied with what I've got already." I grind out.

"Pity." He slams my face forward into the leather upholstery of the massage table. "Because I don't like insolent boys, Fox. Boys who stare. Boys who run away. Boys whose obedience is always tinged with defiance, boys who've been allowed to run wild for too long. Boys who need a firm hand." He tugs on my hair, pulling my head back until I'm gasping.

"I'm not a fucking boy." I manage to hiss. "I'm thirty-fucking-seven for god's sake!"

He shakes his head with rueful amusement.

"You just don't seem to get it, Fox." He laughs. "You're whatever I say you are. Whatever any of us wants you to be. That's all you can aspire to."

"You're wrong." I pant, on the verge of hitting him but trying desperately to restrain myself. Skinner doesn't need to deal with me screwing things up again. Not when he's ill.

"No. You are. And he is. Skinner. He's never broken you. He's handled you all wrong."

"Somehow I get the feeling that you're going to tell me that you could do a better job." I mutter.

"Would you like that?" He lets go and circles me as if he's a vulture eyeing his next meal.

"Look, I didn't come here for this. I just came here to ask for someone to let me into the kitchen so that I can grab something to eat." I tell him, trying to calm down and get the conversation back on a less confrontational footing.

"Grab something to eat?" He stands behind me, too close, and I can feel him breathing in the scent of my hair.

"For my master." I stand still, clenching my fists. "He wants to eat in his room."

"Does he? How anti-social of him." Saunders murmurs. "I do hope he is quite...well." He puts his hands on my shoulders and runs them down the sides of my arms.

"He's fine." I close my eyes and count to ten. He won't provoke me into anything. I won't let him do that. Never before have I had to fight so hard to keep control of myself.

"Good. Because we want him fit don't we? For the Arena tonight?" His lips brush the back of my neck and my whole body stiffens. He laughs. "We'll have to work on loosening him up." He remarks to Nick over my shoulder, as if he already owns me. Nick smiles at me, a gentle, serene smile of agreement.

"We can do that." He replies to his master.

"In the meantime." Saunders sits back down on the massage table. "Your master will be expecting his meal and I wouldn't want you to keep him waiting. Nick - take Fox to the kitchen and see that he is fully provided for. It may be the last meal he and his current master share together." He smiles wolfishly at me and his intent is now open between us. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he will fight Skinner tonight.

I resturn to our room to find Skinner flushed and feverish. His eyes are glowing too brightly, and there's a sheen of sweat all over his body.

"You can't fight tonight. I'll tell Saunders." I sit down on the bed in front of him, and start spooning soup into him.

"Mulder, I can feed myself." He grabs the bowl from me. "And I don't think Saunders will give a toad's fart whether I'm ill or not."

"A toad's fart?" I gaze at him quizzically, head on one side. "Is that a technical marine expression?"

"No. Technical Skinner expression. Anyway, I'm feeling much better." He says, nodding confidently. "I'll beat the bastard and then you can show me your appreciation in your own inimitable way."

"Sounds good to me." I stuff a chunk of bread into my mouth. "Then we can catch the murderer and go home and live happily ever after. Oh, and have nonstop sex, right?"

"Something like that." He grins, then the smile fades. "Come here." He puts his bowl down, and I crawl over to sit between his knees. He takes hold of my face and looks into my eyes. He isn't wearing his glasses, and his eyes are dark and intense. "I want you to agree to something," he says.

"What?" I ask cautiously.

He shakes his head. "You have to agree without knowing what, my paranoid little sex maniac." He puts his hand on my neck, drawing me closer, until I'm being dragged deeper and deeper into that dark, mesmerizing stare.

"I'm not sure..." I begin, and he puts his index finger over my mouth.

"You have to agree," he says. "I want a promise from you. After what we've been through together in the past few days I wouldn't have thought that was too much to ask for."

I open my mouth and start sucking his finger and he sighs and rolls his eyes, removing it and giving me a rough shake. "Do you agree to do whatever I tell you next?" He asks.

"Does it involve us both being naked?" I ask hopefully.

"No. It doesn't." He tells me firmly.

"Oh. Does it involve one of us being naked then?" I press.

"Possibly." He shrugs.

"Does it involve..."

"Mulder." He says warningly.

"All right. I agree." I tell him, making a face. "Fuck, we're about to face a fate worse than death. You'd think, under the circumstances, that even you could lighten up."

"That's such crap. I've been dead before, Mulder. There is no such thing as a fate worse than death. At least not on this occasion. Understand me?"

"No." I pout. "And anyway, what is it that you just had me agree to?"

"This." He holds my shoulders in a vice-like grip. "If I lose, you don't hang around. You don't throw one of your tantrums, you don't struggle and fight and mouth off. You leave the Arena with Saunders without looking back, you go to his room, and you do whatever he tells you to."

"You bastard." I draw back from him, and he lets me go.

"Yeah. That's right. I am." He shrugs. "We're way out of our depth here, Fox. We've just been getting in deeper and deeper since we got here. I warned you back in DC what might happen to you if you ended up here - hell, even Lenny warned you. You're no shy young virgin so..."

"Thanks to you..." I murmur.

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time." He snaps. "I seem to recall the words 'just fucking fuck me'. "

"That was different. I wanted you. I don't want him. The way I see it, I have 2 choices. I can make it easy for the sick bastard, or I can make it hard for him. I don't see why..."

"Mulder, you're wrong." He states flatly. "The only person you'll make it hard for is yourself."

"No, he'll see that..."

"Mulder." He takes hold of my head again, and makes me look into his eyes once more. "Listen to me," he says urgently. "If you go along with him, if you just close your eyes and go along with whatever it is he wants to do to you, then you'll get out the other side in one piece. It won't be nice, but you'll be okay. If you fight him, he'll still do what he wants to you, only it'll hurt more - a lot more. You don't need to struggle to prove anything to yourself, or to me. I've just told you what I want you to do, and I expect you to do it. You promised."

"Okay, okay." I lean my head against his, wretchedly, not sure if I can do as he asks, promise or not. "Fuck, but I wish I was being chased by 9 foot high aliens wanting to take me back to their mothership right now." I murmur.

"Yeah. Me too. If I believed in aliens." He snorts.

"We have so much in common." I give a wry laugh.

"Sometimes it's good to be with people who are different from you. I probably need someone crazy to make me laugh, god help me. You sure as hell need someone sane to drag you back down to earth."

"The dragging part sounds fun. Want to try some of that now?" I lean forward hopefully.

"No." He reaches for his bowl again, and continues eating. "I want to conserve my strength. Maybe you should too - you don't know what might be expected of you later."

Somehow that comment wrecks my appetite. I watch him eat, bring him some more water, insisting that he drinks all of it, then lie face down next to him, wondering how I could have known him for 5 or more years and never once noticed how good he smells. We both lie there, watching the hands on the clock move around, slow second by inexorable slow second. His fingers are absently stroking my hair in time to the ticking clock.

"Do you suppose Kendall watches westerns?" I murmur at five minutes to 11. "You know, the cavalry always arrives just in time, doesn't it?"

"This is Real Life." He shrugs and I can't help but see the sickly pallor on his face because even that small movement pains him. "In my experience, there's no such thing as last minute rescues. You have to rely on yourself."

I don't even have that option. Everything in my future hangs on other people. I'm helpless, in the thrall of fate, chance, luck, my lover's state of health and the whims of a bunch of crazies. Welcome to Mulderworld - the ultimate sick fantasy theme park. Everything here is out of your control - you're a helpless victim of chance, your whole life hanging in the balance, dependent on the turn of a wheel. As for rides, well, don't bother buying a ticket - you might find yourself to be everyone's idea of the E-Ticket ride. And, trust me, you NEVER want to visit the concession stand in Mulderworld. You'll be forced to concede far more than you'll ever want to.

The Arena looks the same as last night, although I notice that the bloodstained sand has been replenished by new, pristine supplies. Skinner removes his shirt before the challenge has even been made, and we begin the oiling up process all over again. This time Saunders doesn't bother with preliminaries. He just strides over to Skinner and smiles.

"You and me, I think. Yes?" He murmurs.

"If you insist." Skinner shrugs. Saunders's smirk widens.

"Oh, I rather think I do." He returns to the center of the arena and announces the challenge before leaving to undress and prepare for it.

"He's good, but probably too sure of himself. He'll have a weakness. He's older than you, probably doesn't have your stamina. He..." I ramble on forcefully, trying to convince the pair of us. Skinner nods at each of my points. When I finally finish, he takes a deep breath and holds me close. I can feel his oily body shaking against my bare flesh.

"If I lose, it won't be because I didn't damn well try to beat the shit out of that sick bastard." He mutters into my ear. "Remember your promise, Fox. If you only obey one goddamn order I give you in your entire life, make it this one." And then he pushes me away towards the post.

Matt takes great delight in acting as ringmaster for the evening, grabbing my wrist and fastening me to the post alongside Nick.

"This isn't fair." I whine at Nick, which is pointless because there's nothing he can do about it. "Skinner's ill. He took too much of a pounding last night. Saunders is fresh. What sort of a fight is this anyway?"

"It'll be fun." Nick is smiling at me. "I love the Arena. People don't challenge Saunders very often so no one fights over me much." His pupils are dilated and he's got a stupid expression on his face. "Can you smell it? The sand and oil? I just love that smell! Come on, Fox. Aren't you flattered? Just look at who's fighting over us. They're the toughest men here. Oh GOD, look at their muscles!" He groans slightly and I notice a suspicious bulge in his jeans. Christ, what the fuck is he on? Whatever it is, I wish I had a dose of it right now. It might stop the sweaty shivers that keep washing over me.

Matt prances around in the center of the arena for a while, his broken nose bruised and swollen after his encounter with Skinner last night. Finally the contenders step into the circle. Saunders is a compact man, neat beside Skinner's long-limbed body. He has a dangerous, elegant ease to his movements, like the born predator he is. I realize, without surprise, that he does not expect to lose.

There's a long slow build-up as each man gauges the other's strength. Skinner gives no sign that he might be hurt, and I know just what it must be costing him to move so freely, without wincing in pain, but it's crucial that Saunders has no inkling that his opponent has a weakness. We both know that if he did, he'd hone in on it like the vulture he is. Saunders isn't particularly fast, but he has a good eye. After several minor skirmishes, lasting in total 15 or so minutes, they have sized each other up. Then Saunders lands a couple of easy punches before Skinner finds a chink in his armor. Saunders is good with his fists but not so good at close quarters. He's less of a wrestler than Skinner, lacking his upper body bulk. Soon Skinner has him on the floor, pounding Saunders onto his back, tossing him down into the sand, and punching Saunders firmly several times. I breathe a sigh of relief, but Saunders isn't finished off so quickly. The oil on his body makes it easier for him to slide out from under Skinner, and he gets to his feet quickly, before Skinner can react, swinging around to deliver a kick to my lover's chin and a karate chop to his neck. Skinner falls into the sand and Saunders descends on him, beating at him mercilessly with cutting punches from his fists. I close my eyes but I can still hear Skinner's rasping breathing and the sounds of Saunders's blows as they connect. When I open my eyes again, Skinner is struggling to break free of Saunders, twisting beneath him. He's pale, and so obviously ill that for the first time I change the silent prayer I've been sending to a god who has never given any sign of listening to me before. Instead of praying for my lover to win the fight, I pray to have him give up before he takes any more of this punishment.

"Please, just end the fucking challenge." I whisper over and over again. "Just say it. Give in." And I know he won't. I know he won't say those words. Not now, not ever. He'll fight until either Saunders kills him, or he loses consciousness. "Fuck you. Fuck..." I'm tearing at the cuff around my wrist, going half-crazy with worry for him as he takes blow after blow. "Stop this." I yell. "Just fucking stop." But nobody is listening to me.

The crowd is baying its appreciation of Saunders's savagery, combined with a grudging acknowledgement of Skinner's bravery for continuing the fight. Nick glances at me with a sick smile of delight and Saunders pauses in his assault for a moment, kneeling on Skinner's shoulders and holding him in the sand.

"Anytime you want to say the words, Mr Skinner." He murmurs silkily.

"Not in this goddamn lifetime, fucker." Skinner throws back between gasps of pain.

"Very well. But perhaps I should just put you out of your misery." Saunders backhands my man hard across the face, and again the other way, and I can see Skinner's eyes begin to lose their focus. The fight has been going on for 45 minutes.

"What happens after an hour?" I ask Nick. "Does it stop then?"

"No." Nick shrugs. "It just goes on until it's over. One way or another." Oh shit. A thought occurs to me. Is this how those tops died? The ones who were dumped in the Potomac? Scully said they'd been castrated, but all of them had been badly bruised as well - as if they'd been fighting.

"What happens if Skinner loses?" I whisper anxiously to Nick.

"Then you belong to Aaron." He shrugs.

"Nothing else?"

"No. The same as last night." He shrugs again, licking his lips in eager anticipation as Saunders delivers yet another savage blow to Skinner's body. Skinner grunts as he takes it, his eyes rolling back into his head. Then somehow, I don't know how, he manages to roll free and stagger to his feet, breathing too heavily, covered in sweat and blood and bruises. He staggers in my direction, but Saunders is on him again almost immediately, throwing himself at my boss and bringing him crashing down at my feet. I make the most of the opportunity, kneeling down beside his prone body.

"Just give in. Say the fucking words. I'll keep my promise. Please. Please." I whisper to him. He looks at me, and I'm not sure if he's understood, then he shakes his head, partly in answer to my question, partly to clear it.

"I can't," he says. "You know that." Then Saunders is on him again. I'm so angry I can't keep still, wrenching at the cuff until my wrist starts to bleed.

"Fuck you, it's all right to make me promise not to fight back, but you won't do it for me. Fuck you!" I scream at him, but I'm not sure if he's even heard me as Saunders cracks him hard across the jaw. Sweat and blood both spew in my direction and I can see Nick react as if he's been shown some hot porn. He's loving this, he's so involved in it that he's lost himself. He doesn't see the pain or genuine emotional suffering, but then why should he? He doesn't know that neither Skinner nor I get off on this. As far as he knows, we've come here because we enjoy all this as much as any of the other warped Mithras motherfuckers. I can't see how Skinner can hold out for much longer, and there's no point in it anyway. He doesn't stand a chance of winning now.

Saunders suddenly seizes Skinner's head and delivers one final, bone-jarring punch, and I can see my man fall back, unconscious. I know that it isn't a trick, but after last night, Saunders isn't taking any chances. He rolls Skinner's eyelid back before getting up, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Then, with one contemptuous flick of his foot, he rolls Skinner over in the sand, then stands with his foot resting on my lover's forehead.

"Challenge over, Mr. Skinner." He laughs, looking down on my boss's prone form. Skinner doesn't even blink. This time he's genuinely out cold. Saunders head snaps up, and he looks directly at me. "So, Fox. Come to Daddy." He smiles, holding his arms out wide. "I think it's time I took you home to bed, don't you?"

There won't be any more challenges this evening. The hour is up. I have no idea how Skinner kept going for the full hour, but I'm scared that he might be dead. He certainly needs immediate medical attention. He has to after the punishment he took this evening, especially considering his already fragile state of health. Saunders has the keys to the cuffs, and he's crossing over to us. He releases Nick who kisses him all over, abasing himself at Saunders's feet and licking them in a frenzy of post-fight adoration. Saunders enjoys this for a moment, and I'm pleased to see that there are some dark bruises on his body. He hasn't got away completely unscathed. Then Saunders comes to stand in front of me. He lifts my chin and looks into my downcast, sullen eyes.

"We know you're temperamental, Fox," he says softly. "So I'm not going to undo the cuff just yet. I'm going to make a deal with you. If you come quietly, then I'll get a couple of the other tops to carry your former master to his room. How does that sound? If you make a fuss then I'll just leave him here in the sand, in his own blood."

"I'll do as you say." My throat is so dry that I can barely speak and he nods approvingly, running a finger along my jaw and down my throat.

"Good boy." He unlocks the cuff and Nick grabs hold of me and kisses me, putting an arm around me and leading me towards the door. I twist my head to catch one last glimpse of my lover, lying in the sand, his eyes closed. I can just make out the rise and fall of his chest and console myself that he is at least still alive, but that image of him, lying like a wounded animal on the floor, is seared deep into my mind. Saunders gives the order to have him taken back to our room, and then he puts his arm around my other shoulder and, between them, he and Nick propel me down the corridors to meet my next ordeal.

"That was very satisfying." Saunders stretches out his body and grins at Nick as we enter their room. When I'm safely inside, he turns a key in the lock and puts it safely on a chain around his neck. "Boys that run have to be...protected from themselves." He smiles wolfishly at me. "Now, see to the bath, Nick, while I examine Fox." Examine? Fuck. Nick grins and disappears into the bathroom, while Saunders approaches me. He places one of his hands in my hair, and holds me under the light, looking at me keenly. The fingers of his other hand inspect my face, parting my lips, running down over my chin, lingering on my neck. His eyes devour me at the same time. "You're pretty of course, but so wild." He kisses me gently on the forehead. "I think you long to be restrained, don't you?"

"Whatever you say." I shrug, trembling in his grip.

"That's right. That's good. You know the right words, but you need to feel them, Fox." He kisses me again, on the cheek, his lips wandering down further, finding mine. His tongue parts them, and he's inside my mouth, tasting unfamiliar, unwanted. I stand, stock-still, as tense and skittish as a scared foal. He draws back. "You'll submit," he whispers. "Because they all do in the end. It's in your soul, and you just need to recognize it. When you do, you'll submit, because that's when you're happiest. I can make you happy all the time, dear Fox. You want my strength. You crave it." He's kneading his body into mine, and I can feel his erection against my thigh. I fight off a feeling of nausea.

"Yes. Whatever." I state numbly, remembering my promise. He slaps me hard across the cheek, leaving a burning red mark on my face, and I clench my fists.

"Just words. No feeling behind them. You must know that I'll demand more than that." He smiles again, that creepy, sinister smile. "And don't speak unless I give you permission. It's my first rule. Nick has permission when we are together like this, although not in public. You haven't earned it yet, and I don't anticipate that you will for quite some time. You may ask for permission to speak whenever you like, but I won't always grant it. You can answer direct questions. Understood?"

"Yes." I nod, warily. This has to be a nightmare. I can't get through this. I can't do what he wants, and I cannot serve him, much less sleep with him. I notice that Nick has come back into the room.

"Your bath is ready, sir." He says, his eyes lingering longingly on Saunders's battle-scarred body.

"Good. Fox - you can have the honor of undressing me tonight."

I gaze at him, fighting my own revulsion.

"Thank me." He says warningly.

"Thank you, sir." I mutter, and he smiles and slaps me again, even harder than before, my whole face swinging sideways as a result of the blow.

"As if you mean it next time, Fox." He says smoothly.

I follow him into the bathroom and reach shaking fingers to his pants, undo his belt, and push his trousers down his thighs. He didn't bother to put his shirt back on after the Arena, so there's not much undressing to do. I close my eyes, and put my thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down as well. He steps out of them, and eases himself into the huge circular tub with a sigh. Then he waves a hand at us.

"Join me." He orders, and Nick is undressed in nanoseconds, sliding in beside his master and nuzzling up to him shamelessly. I undo my jeans, and take them off, no longer sure whether I have any embarrassment glands left in my body after all I've been through here. I get into the water and sit stiffly, facing them. Saunders laughs out loud. "Come here, and bring the soap with you. I want to see how well you've been trained, and if you know how to serve." I do as I'm told without spilling too much water, and manage to soap him all over and then rub him down with a washcloth.

I still can't believe that this is happening. I remember my apartment, my office as if they're old friends - familiar, everyday places that I don't think I'll ever visit again. I am not this person, but the truth is that I don't know what person I am any more. I never knew I wanted to sleep with Skinner until a few days ago. Supposing I now find out that I'm a raging queen who wants to be nailed by everything with a dick? Maybe I have an insatiable desire to suck other men's cocks, or to be fucked. Maybe, just maybe, all I want to do is kneel at the feet of a man like Saunders, and let him do what he likes with me. How the hell should I know? How well can I really say that I know myself?

Saunders doesn't linger over his bath and I'm not surprised - he obviously wants to move on to the main event. As I soap him, he fondles me, his fingers running along my cock, and down over my balls, pressing up between the crease in my ass. I don't protest, clamping my jaws shut, but my nerves are on edge, and I'm not sure whether I'll be able to stop myself fighting back when things really start to heat up. And somehow I'm sure that they will.

He gets out of the bath, and Nick hands me a big towel to dry him with. This is an intricate ceremony, like some sort of Japanese tea ritual. I'm told that I must start at his feet, and kiss each area as I work. I go quickly about this task, pressing unwilling lips against his body until another slap stops me.

"Really, Fox. Are all your lessons going to be learned the hard way?" He asks. "Begin again. Do you remember that massage you gave to your former master? I expect to see a similar level of devotion now."

I try my best, closing my eyes, and imagining that it's Skinner I'm drying. It works to a certain extent. This isn't me...I whisper over and over again in my head. I'm not here, I'm detached...but Saunders is too clever to buy this.

"Next time, you'll keep your eyes open in order to remind yourself exactly who your master is." He hisses, grabbing my hair, and delivering another swinging blow across my cheek.

When the drying is over, he pushes me to my knees in front of him and holds my face between his hands. I know what he wants before he asks. His cock is hard and swollen, and he rubs it against the side of my face.

"Show us your skill, boy," he says, his tone hard and urgent. He presses his cock into my unwilling mouth, and I gag, drawing back and retching. "Nick - go into the other room, and bring me a crop." Saunders says and Nick does as he's told. I stare up at Saunders in alarm, and he grips my jaw tightly and glares at me. "You'll do it, Fox, or I'll beat you. It's really that simple. I won't ask you to enjoy it, not this evening anyway. We'll save that for later on in your servitude. Now do it." He takes the crop that Nick has brought him, and runs it lightly over the welts on my back. This time, when he pushes into my mouth, I obey him, closing my eyes, and concentrating every atom of my body on doing as I've been told, doing as I promised Skinner I would. Luckily he's already so turned on by the events of the evening that he comes quickly, without much effort from me, and, withdrawing from my mouth, he takes great delight in holding my hair as he spurts out over my chest. I don't think I've ever felt more degraded in my entire life.

"Good boy," he murmurs. "Now clean yourself up, and join me in the other room. Nick - help me into my robe." Nick swiftly obeys, and ushers his master into the bedroom while I wash his semen from my body. It makes me feel sick, and I can't stop myself rushing to the toilet and puking up. Nick comes back in time to witness this.

"Oh, Fox." He strokes my back tenderly as I throw up some more. "Please, Fox. Just relax. It can be so good. You'll see. I'll help you. Forget your old master. You're with us now." He talks soothingly, softly. "Don't let him hear you," he whispers. "Try to keep quiet. There, there." At least all this vomiting answers one question for me. Whatever it is I feel for Skinner, it's about more than just sex. When I'm finally finished, Nick gives me a glass of water, which I swill down in one go, then he takes my hand, and leads me back into the other room. I feel as if I can't put one foot in front of the other. I'm dangerously close to betraying my promise to Skinner, even though I know it won't do me any good. I want to throw myself at Saunders, to punch him down, strangle him, and hurt him so bad that he doesn't get up again, and instead he expects me to caress him with every semblance of enjoyment? I can't do it.

Saunders is sitting in the armchair, which has been placed facing the bed. He instructs me to stand in front of him, and he fondles my body, his fingers playing with my cock, lingering on my balls, stroking my inner thighs. I bite down with all my force on my bottom lip.

"Stop that. It's such a pretty lip." Saunders is looking at me sharply, and I'm surprised to feel the trickle of hot blood running down my chin. "Now, Fox, I want to watch my two beautiful slaves enjoying each other. Go over to the bed with Nick. Go on." He pushes me firmly, and sits back in his chair, undoing his robe, and holding his cock as he anticipates his evening's entertainment. So this is what turns him on, is it? A live action peep show with Nick and me as stars of the show? There's a certain irony to this, considering the amount of times I've jerked off in front of my extensive video collection, but you'll forgive me for not appreciating that right now. My public awaits me. Nick is lying on the bed, a sultry, indolent expression on his face. He puts an arm out, and draws me down into his embrace.

He's a good looking guy - all that dark hair, those green eyes, the sharp cheekbones. He has a nice, toned body, young and beautiful, but I don't want him any more than I wanted Saunders. Nick's fingers find my nipples, and he plays with them, gently, then his tongue takes the place of his hands as he explores me. His thumb rubs my butt, then pushes inside me, and I move, disengaging myself from him.

"Hush, baby." He draws me close, and I can feel the warmth of his breath, the slight wetness of the tip of his erect cock as it brushes against me. "Come on, sweet Fox." He kisses my lips gently, then again, with more passion. "You're so sexy. You make me so hard. I'm not the only one in the room who feels that way. Just look at our master; look at how hard his cock is...WE'RE doing that to him...We're making him so fucking horny, he'd like to ram that big dick of his right up your gorgeous ass while you ball my brains out..." He murmurs, obviously trying to psyche me into the right mood. His hand is on my cock, moving furiously, and I try to relax and go with it, but all I can see is Skinner, lying in the sand, bleeding. Because of me. All because I disobeyed his goddamn orders, and because he wouldn't just leave me here to rot which is exactly what he should have done.

"Fox, please." Nick is moaning, his lips roving over my shoulders and neck, down onto my collarbone, my nipples. He's thrusting against me, his hard cock digging into my thigh. This isn't as bad as Saunders. I should be grateful. I should remember my promise. With a jolt I'm back in high school, getting changed for a track session. I can recall the slamming of my locker door, and a bigger, older boy holding me against the wall.

"Crazy Fox Mulder. Where's your sister, sissy?" He's pinning me down, his big arms too strong for me. I can hear myself yelling, screaming at him as he pulls my shorts down, and takes me in his mouth, his hands keeping me still, pressed hard against the wall. Then my hormones betray me, the sensation of his warm mouth is too much for me and I come, feeling desperately ashamed. I can still remember his laugh as he drew back from me. "Had you." He said with a leering grin. "Had you, Mulder." And then he left. He never touched me again, and I never admitted to myself that I wanted him to. In later years, I rationalized it better. People often have homosexual experiences in their youth. It's completely normal. It doesn't mean anything. I believed that right up until a few days ago. Now I'm questioning everything. Maybe, since I've been with Skinner, I should be able to go with anyone. I should be able to just switch off my intellect, enjoy...

"Fox, oh that's good, Fox." Nick is working hard, his hand rubbing my cock, but there's still barely any response. "Please," he whispers in a tone too low for Saunders to hear. "He'll punish you. Try, Fox. For me. I don't want you hurt." I roll over, pushing him beneath me, kissing him with as much passion as I can simulate, licking at his earlobes, pumping his dick with my hand.

"Good." Saunders's voice jolts me back to the peep show. "You fuck him, Fox. Do it." I glance over to him, bile rising in my throat to see him jerking off as he watches us. His cock is large, swollen and purple, straining against his hand, and I feel like puking again. My own cock remains resolutely limp. I don't want Nick; I don't want Saunders. Every time I try to get aroused, all I can think of is Skinner. Is he badly injured? Has he regained consciousness? Will he regain consciousness? I've stopped moving, and Nick is doing all the work again, tugging at me, trying to make me join in. I'm doing what I can, my hands moving as if I'm a puppet, but I'm not here, I'm not really here at all. My mind is crying out, my body is numb. It's dark, I can hear Nick sucking, feel him nibbling, but nothing is happening. There are all these sounds of sex, but they're jumbled up with images of pain, of Skinner, bleeding. I can't function, I can't think or feel. I'm adrift in a void.

"Stop!" Saunders comes over to the bed, and sits down. He lifts up my head and gazes at me searchingly. "Fox?" His fingers wipe something warm from my face. My tears. "Fox. Who are these for?"

"For him." I look Saunders squarely in the eye. "I'm sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose, but I can't..." I gesture to my limp penis.

His fingers travel down to my throat, and linger there, then his hands effortlessly circle my neck, crushing my windpipe in a firm embrace.

"Not even if your life depends on it?" He asks softly, increasing the pressure slightly. "Hmm, Fox?" I manage to shake my head, and he loosens his grasp, allowing me to speak.

"You don't understand." I tell him. "Skinner was...that is...I'd never been with another man before him. There's only been him. I've never...with another...I just can't." I shrug helplessly, and Saunders looks at me for an aeon.

"How very interesting," he says at last. "Well, I never thought you'd be so inhibited. Of course you made your devotion to Mr. Skinner clear from the moment you arrived here, but all the same - I didn't realize how ingrained it is. I could change that. In time." He smiles at me. "You can be broken, Fox. I can do it - but I'll make you ask for it. By the time I finish with you, you'll be hard on order. You'll open your mouth to anyone I tell you to, suck like an expert. You'll go down on your hands and knees when I gave the word, immediately, with absolute obedience - and you'll enjoy it. Even with Matt. I could get you to that stage, Fox. I could get you to the point where you'd approach Matt on your hands and knees, and beg him to fuck you. But your tears have moved me, so I'm going to give you something."

"What?" I ask, dreading his reply.

"Your freedom." He smiles and plays with my hair. "You can go back to Skinner. I'll take you there myself."

"What? No strings?" I stare at him in disbelief.

"None." He shrugs. "However..." He puts his head on one side, and looks at me for a long moment. "When you come back to me, and you will come back, you'll be prepared to give me everything I want. You'll ask me to break you. Do you understand?"

I nod, uncertain what he means. I'll never ask him for this. He smiles, and pulls me to my feet.

"Get dressed then."

I don't need telling twice. I run to the bathroom, pull my jeans on, and allow him to wrap his arm around my shoulders as he escorts me up the corridor to Skinner's room. He unlocks the door, and pushes me inside, locking it again after me.

Skinner is lying on the floor. The bastards just dumped him there - they didn't even bother to put him on the bed.

"Walter." I roll him over, my body shaking in case he's dead, and I've lost him. "Walter." His eyes roll open, trying to focus on me.

"Fox?" he rasps.

"Yeah, it's me. You're going to be all right. I promise you'll be all right." I kiss his face, relieved to the point of tears to find that he's still alive. "Can you move? Can you get up?" I ask but he doesn't seem to understand me. I try to tug him into an upright position, but he's just too damn heavy, and I'm scared of hurting him. Giving up, I run over to the bed, and get the pillows and a blanket. I roll him into the blanket, then place the pillow under his head. I'm not a doctor. I can't do anything for him, and I feel so helpless. He's cold to the touch where they left him here half-naked on the floor, and the fever has produced a sweat that has cooled his skin. I do the only thing I can. I get another blanket and pillow, settle down beside him, and press my body against his, giving him all the warmth I can, holding his battered body against my own, and gradually feeling his flesh heat up against me.

I lie awake all night, just listening to each breath that he takes, nudging him if it seems too long since his last breath, just to make sure that he's still alive. It's the longest night of my life. Each slow hour ticking past like an eternity. Finally he stirs.

"Fox..." he mutters, his eyelids fluttering open. He seems to know who he is, and who I am, and I'm grateful for that much. "Did he...?" It's his first thought.

"No." I try to sit him up. "I'm fine. So are you. Can you get onto the bed? You're too heavy to lift."

"I'll do my best. If you help me." Between us we manage to get him onto the bed, and I bring him a bowl of water and a washcloth. I take his pants off, then wash him down gently, removing sweat and blood, and I clean up wounds and bruises as best I can. When I've finished, I cover him with the blanket again.

"You're sure you're okay? He didn't...?" He rasps. His little finger moves in my direction, finding my hand, and resting on it. It's the closest he can come to a caress.

"No. He didn't." I say firmly. "He let me go. Now drink." He takes a sip, and then falls asleep again.

Our door is unlocked at 10 a.m., and Saunders appears.

"How is our invalid?" He glances over at Skinner.

"He's ill. He was ill before the fight. He was in Vietnam - it left him with an injury. If he'd been well he'd have mashed your face into the sand last night." I tell him coldly.

"Really? How unfortunate for poor Mr. Skinner." Saunders remarks with all of his usual insincere charm.

"He needs a doctor." I fume at him.

"Does he?" Saunders smiles, and comes over to the bed. He pulls the sheets back, but Skinner doesn't stir. "He does look quite ill." Saunders places a hand on Skinner's forehead. "He has a fever. It could be quite serious." He glances at me. "You're right, Fox. He does need a doctor."

"You'll call one then?" I ask hopefully. He purses his lips, and shakes his head.

"No. I don't think I will." He smiles. "I do hope he's fit by tomorrow evening though. That's when the really serious event will take place."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I demand angrily.

"His initiation fight. Didn't I mention it?" He leans languidly against the armchair. "We like Mr. Skinner. He's shown himself worthy of joining Mithras. Unfortunately, we're full. There's only one way in."

"And what's that?" I ask, not following any of this, and just thinking about how much Skinner needs a doctor.

"Dead man's shoes." Saunders shrugs, but his words chill me to the bone as I remember the dead men we fished out of the Potomac. "So let's hope he's well enough for that little fight, Fox. Or..." He trails off and smiles at me.

"Or what?"

"Or else." Saunders's mouth has settled into a grim line.

"You cannot be serious!" I snarl, advancing on him. "He's ill for fuck's sake. He'll never be well enough for some, what, fight to the death? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"Not quite." Saunders squares up to me, pulling me up short. "But near enough. It's more...interesting than that. He will have to fight though."

"He can't!" I yell, unable to contain myself any more. "Not unless you bring in a fucking doctor!"

"Ah well." Saunders smiles at me again, reaching out a finger to flick a lock of my hair from my forehead. "You know, if you want something from me, you might have to offer something in return, Fox."

"Offer...? What the fuck are you talking about? What do you want from me?" I shout.

"You know what I want. Make sure you ask nicely." He grins again, and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him as he goes.

The bastard. The fucking bastard. I weigh this up in my head as I sit on the end of the bed, watching Skinner take gasping breaths, his face disfigured by bruises and cuts, his body even worse. So, Saunders wants what he has sought from the beginning, what I have never given anyone but Skinner. He wants more than I've even given Skinner. He wants more than just my submission - he wants to break me, and he wants me to ask him for that. No - he wants me to beg him. And if I don't, Skinner doesn't get a doctor, and very probably that means that somewhere along the line he ends up in the Potomac minus parts of his anatomy that both he and I are very attached to. I wonder how close the "team" are to finding us, but Skinner is right. You can't expect the cavalry to show up just in time to save you. You have to save yourself.

"What should I do?" I ask him. He's asleep, and I'm not expecting a response, so I'm not disappointed. I crawl over and lie against him. His skin is clammy, and his body is still generating a great heat. "What do you want me to do?" I ask him. He has dark shadows under his eyes, and he looks like a vulnerable child. I never thought I'd say that about him, but it's true. And there is nobody but me to take care of him. He's always so vital, so full of energy and purpose. He's never needed anyone to take care of him. I remember Sharon, and the way she seemed to long to look after him. Not a chance. And now he's mine, or I'm his, or maybe it's the same thing, and what was it I said about responsibility running both ways?

"Sweet dreams." I get up, stretching cautiously as my heavily welted back protests. "'Tis a far, far better thing...', 'the needs of the one...' blah, blah and all that crap." I bend over and kiss him. "Oh, what the hell, I'll do it. After all, I'm just going to get exactly what everyone thinks I've deserved for a long time, even you, I'll bet. You can see why he wants to break me. I bet that every so often you dream yourself about taking me down to the level of Fox Mulder, obedient slave-slut. Yeah, I'd be the man of your wet dreams, all right. Trust me, if I let him do this, it'll be even better. Just think - no more temper-tantrums, no more mouthing off. By the time you get me back I'll be a model agent. You'll be able to order me to do anything. No more chasing after UFO's. No more government conspiracies or endless arguments over expense reports. It'll be "yes sir" and "no sir" from now on. He can do all the hard work, and you can reap the rewards. Yeah, it's perfect. I'll be exactly what you've always wanted. Manageable, controllable, obedient. I'll sit beside your desk, and you can pat my head occasionally, and toss me a few sunflower seeds. Do you think I might be delaying the inevitable with all this babbling?"

No answer is forthcoming. His chest rises and falls, and rises and falls, and he doesn't even wake up when my stupid tears drop on his face, sad bastard that I am. "Okay, okay, I'm going. Don't ever say that I never do anything for you. Selling yourself into slavery must be pretty high on anyone's list of devoted acts. Maybe someone will write a poem about my selfless sacrifice one day. Maybe...oh shut the fuck up, Mulder."

I'm not defeated yet. Not quite yet. I think I can still give the loathsome Saunders a shock, even if I have to give in to the inevitable eventually. I dress for success, just like a top, including a pair of shoes, which, after a few days barefoot, seem like a luxury even if they are a size too big for me. Then I comb my hair neatly, and brush my teeth. Finally I arrive at Saunders's door and knock. He opens it himself, which throws me, and a quick glance around is sufficient for me to realize that Nick is not present.

"Come in, Fox." Saunders studies my clothing with a frown, trying to get a handle on the game I'm about to play. He seats himself in the armchair, and studies me. "You had something you wished to ask?" He smiles.

"Yes." I sit down on the end of the bed without being invited to do so, watching the frown crease his forehead again, and the flash of anger in his eyes. His fingers jerk involuntarily, and I know that he's longing to reprimand me.

"Well?" He folds his hands patiently and waits.

"I'm a psychology student." I begin. "And this place is an interesting area for study. However, that's all it is to me - something to study. Human behavior here is at its most basic. There is an interesting dichotomy at work. This is a ritualistic society supposedly avowing a policy of "no rules", when in fact there is a very complex system of rules, all of them designed to maintain a hierarchical structure with extremely paternalistic foundations. I find that fascinating."

"Well, I always knew you were clever as well as pretty," Saunders smirks patronizingly. "And it pleases me. It makes you a charming addition to my collection. When the fucking is done, it's enjoyable to be entertained by conversation. I like a healthy discussion, Fox. You won't find me a harsh master in that respect."

"I'm sure that intellectual, post-coital conversations would have their pleasures for you, but I was trying to prepare you for something else entirely. Please hear me out. "I glance at him and he inclines his head gracefully.

"By all means, I'm intrigued as to where this is going."

"Well, I am not what you think I am."

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow.

"I came here out of curiosity. Curiosity takes me many places. Perhaps it also takes me to places where I shouldn't go, and where I do not belong."

"A-ha." Saunders nods, and smiles. "And you think that you do not belong here?"

"That's right." I smile back, as pleasantly as I can. "I came here from motives other than those I led you to believe. Skinner is not the sort of man you believe him to be either. I am not his "slave" in any sense of the word, any more than I am yours. I attend school on a full scholarship, carry a full course load in many challenging subjects, have an interesting life and enjoy many varied activities. I do not harbor fantasies of possession and ownership. The idea of men fighting over me is even less appealing. I do not view myself as a sexual plaything, a toy to be used by older or stronger men. If it would help you to be convinced, I'd happily fight you myself. I'm not a complete slouch when it comes to fighting." I'm not, either, although admittedly I'm not exactly known for being a street fighter.

"I'm sure." He nods, his smile growing wider.

"Skinner followed me here because he believed me to be in danger from my own intellectual curiosity. He is well aware of the trouble it has got me into before. There is no sense in which Mithras fulfills any of my sexual needs or desires. I misled you on that matter in order to gain access to this place. I apologize for that. However, you are, in effect, asking me to enter into some form of consensual bondage to you. I sense, from what you have said, that my consent on this issue is of some importance to you. Maybe you regard it as the first step towards, as you put it, "breaking" me or maybe you have more noble motives in this respect. I don't know."

"No. Indeed." He murmurs, his eyes boring into me as I speak. "And?"

"I cannot give you the subservience you require because it is not in my nature. I accept that I have led you to believe otherwise, but I ask you to now accept that I speak the truth, and to arrange for a doctor for Skinner. Alternatively, blindfold us and return us to Washington DC. We do not know the location of this place; and would, therefore, pose no threat to you or Mithras."

"Splendid, Mr. Mulder." He gets up and invades my space, standing too close to me.

"You'll do as I ask?" I can't believe it will be that easy, and I have noticed his term of address.

"No. Of course not." He smiles. "Dear Mr. Mulder. You see, I'm happy to accord you the respect of a title. When you speak so eloquently I find that I am sincerely moved by you. " He looks as unmoved as ever. I don't believe the man has any more emotions than your average cat toying with a mouse. "And it is an interesting game that you've chosen to play. If you are not, and you say you are not, a submissive, then are we to believe that you are a top?"

"No. I'm not that either. I'm not into any of this stuff." I wave my hand around in a wild gesture, trying to regain some control of the situation.

"And do you seriously think you could beat me in a fight?"

"No." I reply honestly. "I'm not sure that I could, but if it would prove anything, I'd happily challenge you."

"And if I defeated you, would you then offer me your submission?" He asks, stalking me with his eyes.

"No." I shrug. He laughs out loud, a delighted laugh of wry amusement.

"Oh, Fox. I've had enough of this." He says when he's finished chuckling to himself. "The truly amazing thing is that I think you believe it all. Poor deluded boy." He shakes his head ruefully. "Why so scared, Fox? Why are you so scared of finding out what's underneath all your clever words, and what's behind everything you do and say?"

"I'm not scared..." I begin, but in a lightning flash of movement he forces me against the wall, putting his wrists on either side of my head, leaning into me.

"Yes, you are. Now stand still, and listen to me, and when I've finished, we'll start again. And the only words I'll be expecting from you are these: "Please break me, master." Understood?"

I open my mouth to protest, and he shuts it with a flick of his finger. "And you'll say those words on your knees at my feet. And when you say them you'll have removed all these trappings of Mr. Mulder..." He waves a hand at my clothing. "And you'll be naked. And then, and only then, I might deign to fuck you. Now listen to me."

I close my eyes, feeling his warm breath on my cheek as he talks, the rub of his silky shirtsleeve against my ear. "You may not want to accept who and what you are, but you'll be happier when you do. Let me tell you about my method for breaking slaves. It's worked many times before. Admittedly on less spirited submissives than you, but it's never failed me yet, and I don't anticipate that it will. You've seen Nick. He wasn't always so well-behaved. When I first knew him, he was vain and sulky. He believed he could manipulate me. I taught him the hard way that he could not, and now he is not only a model slave, he is also much happier. The same methods will work with you, despite all your denials and protestations to the contrary." He pauses for a moment, and I am aware of the coolness of the wall against my shoulders in sharp contrast to the threatening warmth of his body as he leans over me. Then he begins speaking again.

"First of all, you'll be denied clothing. You can earn the privilege of clothes if your behavior is acceptable, but it's unlikely that I'll grant it quickly. I expect that I'll keep you naked for several weeks - partly to humiliate you, partly to reinforce your status; you have none, and partly simply because I enjoy looking at you. You'll only be fed on my orders. Sometimes I'll make you beg for food, or water, or both. Sometimes you'll go for days without food, if it pleases me, or if you've angered me. Soon you'll come to realize that pleasing me is a necessity - not an optional extra. When you're fed, you'll take the food from my fingertips, like an animal. You will lick them clean afterwards, and thank me for feeding you. You will be allowed to sleep only when I give you permission. I'll whip you regularly - daily to start with, and not as a punishment, but simply to make you understand that you are in my power. I might perform the beating myself, or I might have Nick whip you. Nick is a sweet-natured boy, but you shouldn't allow that fact to make you believe that he'll go lightly on you. He won't. I have him well trained, and he will hurt you as much as I would. In addition, I will also punish you in this, and a variety of other ways, for any slowness in serving me, or disobedience."

My eyes are tightly closed, and he isn't touching me but he still has me pinned against the wall, his hands flat against it, his body in front of mine, leaning at an angle. I can feel his heat, and sense the rhythm of his breathing. I could be in hell, listening to the devil, his words searing into my soul.

"Sometimes it will please me to whip you all day. Not continuously, but on and off, during the course of 24 hours. There may be no reason for this whipping, other than that I desire to see you weep, and cry, and beg. You do beg very prettily, dear Fox. As regards sex..." I tense and his voice changes, caressing me like silk. "You'll be available for my use at all times. Occasionally, my attentions will be perfunctory - no more than a physical release on my part. On such occasions, it is a matter of supreme indifference to me whether you obtain any pleasure from the act or not. You will simply allow me to use you, in any way I wish to. Whether you find this painful, or distasteful, is irrelevant, and none of my concern. You won't ever complain. If you do, you'll wish you hadn't. At no time could any of this be considered rape. Your consent, as you so rightly pointed out, is important to me, but once I have it, I will view it as a consent to anything that I might wish to do to you. In time, you'll yearn for my touch, but in the beginning I anticipate that you will find it exceedingly painful, as well as personally repugnant. I would imagine that your behavior will improve within days, but I think that it will take several months to break you fully. You will not find me mindlessly cruel, though. I can be a very good master to serve. I will pay for your studies, and allow you to keep your apartment after you have been broken. I will visit you whenever I wish, and summon you when I require your services. At times, I will also give you to various of my friends - women as well as other men. You will serve them as well as you serve me. If you do not, I will hear about it, and you will be punished accordingly. When I tire of you, and it is very likely that I will tire of you at some point, I will arrange for you to be sold. You will have no say in who your new master is. From the point of your entering into your bondage with me, you become nothing more than a possession."

I'm lost, and alone in the dark with his voice, and what he's offering. And I hate him. I hate him for tapping into my soul, and finding depths to it that I never knew existed. I'm not tempted. I don't hate him for that, but for finding, taking and twisting my desire to belong to someone, to be loved and owned, and making it into something so evil. He's right that I'm scared. Who wouldn't be?

"Have you finished?" I ask him, as insolently as I dare, opening my eyes.

"No. And those were not the words I wanted to hear from you. I don't mind that you disobey me at this stage, but you should be warned that you will pay for it later, after you have spoken the words that I expect to hear you say very soon."

"As a trade-off? In order to get medical aid for Skinner? What sort of consent is that?" I ask him. He sighs.

"Have you ever studied acting, Fox?" He asks, moving quickly, sliding his hands away from me, and pulling himself up, returning to the armchair. I'm flustered by his quicksilver body language as usual.

"Not really." I shrug.

"Saying the words can set the scene, Fox." He looks at me keenly. "If you say them and I make you say them often enough, and with enough meaning, sooner or later, you'll come to believe them. It's that simple. You don't believe me?" He notices the incredulous look on my face. "You think you could never truly submit to me? That I could never break you?"

"No. I do believe you - but it's more complex than that. I'm a student of psychology. What you just explained to me is a textbook method of influencing behavior, which, I believe, you could use to turn almost any reasonably intelligent human being who is at a vulnerable place in his life, into a slave. It's a more sophisticated version of brainwashing called mind control. There's nothing unique about this system, Saunders - it's pretty commonplace. A form of mind control is used in everyday life in many legitimate settings, especially in the military and in psychiatry. It's also the preferred method of behavioral control used by destructive religious cults."

Saunders looks as if he's in serious danger of exploding but I'm in full rant mode, and anyway, this guy could benefit from my psychological observations. If evidence that I have a mind of my own will help me to convince him that I'm not just a sex object, then that won't do my case any harm either. And then, of course, there's always the outside chance that I can bore him to death.

"By controlling a victim's environment, what information he receives, where he lives, what clothing he wears, what food he eats, how much sleep he gets, and by indoctrinating him with phobias of impending physical harm if he should disobey any cult orders, it's a simple matter for a cult leader to break down his victim's real personality and replace it with one with the cult's stamp of approval."

He's tapping his fingers on the upholstery of the armchair, allowing me my say, but I can see a Scullyish hostility to my display of verbal gymnastics in his sharp blue eyes.

"By all means, do please continue." He smiles at me and I nod, pacing around the room, gesturing frantically.

"Your pride is misplaced, Saunders. It is not by dint of your macho charisma or an exceptionally powerful method of behavioral training of your own personal invention that you are able to enslave others." I pause and he raises an inquiring eyebrow. "No. Rather, your ability to do this is derived solely from following tried and tested methods of other cult leaders before you, just as a housewife would follow the recipe of a great French chef to make a souffle."

"Really? Fascinating." He murmurs. "Tell me, Fox - did you subject your former master to these egotistical little tirades?"

"Uh...yes." I can vividly recall throwing this sort of psychobabble at Skinner on more than one occasion. Oh shit, that time when we were dealing with that other crazy cult - The Temple of the Seven Stars. I remember spouting whole reams of shit about the Book of Revelations and Dissociative Identity Disorder. The guy must have wondered what hit him. His eyes did glaze over, now that I think about it.

"Poor man." Saunders murmurs. "My respect for him is increasing by the second. I do hope he invested in some sturdy gags to curb your worst excesses."

"Where was I?" I ask Saunders, ignoring his comment, and determined not to be sidetracked.

"I was rather hoping that you'd finished," he murmurs.

"No. I was just getting to the point." I tell him firmly.

"Souffles then. I believe souffles were important." He gestures with a languid hand.

"Right. Yeah - however admirable the culinary results might be from a housewife following a recipe for souffle," I incline my head towards him and he sighs theatrically, "it wouldn't indicate that she possessed an ability to do more than follow directions. The same would apply to following the steps to induct and enslave a potential cult member. The method that you described would work with me, undoubtedly, as it worked with Nick. That means nothing. It's just a recipe. You know that, and I know it."

His face has grown dark and angry, and he's clearly decided that he's had enough of Professor Mulder's lecture.

"I just follow a recipe, like a housewife do I?" He snarls and it is the first time that I have seen him close to losing his self-control. It's not a pretty sight.

"Yes. But if it is the only way to get a doctor for Skinner then I'll willingly undergo your mind control indoctrination and enslavement program. Just so long as you remember that your victory is hollow since my consent is not freely given."

"Fuck you." He clenches both his fists, and advances on me. I stand my ground, waiting for the blow, but it never comes. Breathing heavily, he raises his fist, but stops just short of lashing out at me. I can see him visibly win the struggle to curb his temper, and he smoothes his hair back into place, and smiles once more. "I'm waiting, Fox." He says. "I'll make the call, just as soon as I have what I want from you." He gestures with his head in the direction of the phone. "And then we can get on with preparing that souffle."

Touche! So that's it. Words, my final weapon, have proved useless. I don't really need to think about it. I came here prepared to do this, and even after his speech from hell, I still know that I'll pay whatever price is necessary. I find myself nodding, and he sits down in the armchair, watching me. I unbutton my shirt, slowly, my eyes never leaving his. I transmit a message of pure hatred to him via my body language as I slide the shirt from my shoulders, remove my socks and shoes, then undo my pants and step out of them. Finally, naked, I kneel down and crawl over to him.

My mouth is dry as I come to the end of the road.

"Break me, master. Please." I ask.

"And?" He demands, his eyes devouring my body, his muscles tensed as if ready for violence or flight, savoring his victory.

"Fuck me, master."

"And?"

"Whip me, master. Fuck me. Do what you want to me. Please. I'm begging you."

"Very well. I accept your kind offer. Undress me."

I do as he says, firmly, without shaking. If Skinner's life depends on this, then I'll give him the performance that he wants. He might know that I'm faking every last sigh of pleasure, but he's wrong about the acting. Simulating it will not make it real. Not ever. When he's naked, he takes me in his arms, and kisses me, and I respond with mock-passion, then he pushes me onto the bed, his mouth roving over my nipples, his hand playing with my cock. I reach out and wrap my arms around him, running my hands down his back. I'm moaning, and he's grinning at me, sucking on my lips and neck. "Slut. I knew it. Slut..." he murmurs.

"Fuck me. Fuck me please." I beg, rolling him over underneath me...and then I strike. I'm a couple of inches taller than he is and about 15 years younger. I pin him down, put my hands around his throat and squeeze, hard.

"I'm nobody's fucking slave." I hiss, listening to the sounds of him choking with more pleasure than I would have thought possible. "And now you are going to listen to me. In a minute, when I'm through with you, I'm going to let you up. Then you're going to call those guards of yours, and order a limo. You'll get Skinner placed inside it, and you'll give me the keys to the car. Then you'll let us leave here, you frigging nightmare."

His eyes are bulging in his head, and he's nodding frantically. I loosen my fingers, settling my weight firmly on his torso, keeping him held down as he recovers his breath. He's panting, and still choking - maybe I did more harm than I thought. A sudden memory of Duane Barry assaults me and I shift my weight off him for just one brief second. It's in that moment of vulnerability that he strikes, freeing one arm, punching me on the jaw, twisting out from under me, and knocking me flat on the bed. He opens the bedside dresser drawer and pulls out a set of handcuffs, fastening me to the bed before I can recover. I lie there, my eyes dull, knowing that I face a painful retribution. He sits down next to me.

"I was wrong about Skinner, Fox. He hasn't handled you wrongly at all." He whispers, his voice still choked, and an ugly bruise forming around his neck.

"Oh?" I raise a polite eyebrow. He doesn't have anything to say that I want to hear. I'm just waiting for the punishment to begin.

"No. He's won. I suppose I knew that he would from the beginning, but you can't begrudge me my try, can you?" He smiles, regretfully, and leans in to kiss my lips softly. "I could take you by force, but it wouldn't be the same." He shakes his head. "Matt enjoys that, but I don't. That's why I liked Mr. Skinner as soon as I saw him. He understands the subtleties, the finesse. And he's been so wise in his treatment of you. I'm not a fool, Fox. I know that Nick would go to anyone strong enough to keep him. And his love, as you say, is engineered by me, to my design and specifications. But Skinner keeps you on a very long leash indeed. So long that half the time you probably don't even realize he has it around your neck. Then, maybe he just jerks it gently, quietly, and you come running back to his side. He's ruined you for anyone else. He keeps you panting, perpetually on the edge, in a state of slavery that is so benign that you don't even realize it exists. Half the time you probably even believe in the myth of your own autonomy. You are a submissive, Fox, despite your protestations to the contrary, but you have found yourself a very unusual and particularly powerful master. One wise enough to give you the slack you need, and strong enough to carry you to safety when it all goes wrong. You've been lucky. And of course, by treating you in this way, he's bonded you to him more strongly than I could ever hope to." His hand is stroking my body, possessively, covetously, and I submit to the embrace, powerless to refuse him anything. "You are that rare thing, Fox. A slave who cannot be bought or sold. Very rare. Very beautiful. I envy your master, and hope he never tires of you, because I do not see how you can ever be whole without him. Love can be so very touching."

I flinch, not from his insistent caress, but from his words. He glances at me in surprise.

"But surely you knew that you loved him? I knew, the moment I saw you that first time in Krypton. How strangely compelling a study you are, Fox! So aware, and yet so na�ve. Did you think that it was just a physical thing? Just a need to feel his hands upon your body, or to hear him claiming you? Foolish boy!" He shakes his head in disbelief. His hands are under my butt cheeks, and he pulls me down the bed towards him. "If I said the price for his life was that you let me fuck you, now, would you agree?"

"Yes. You know I would." I tell him through gritted teeth.

"And if I ask you to become aroused, and jerk yourself off for me to watch, would you do that?"

"Yes." I grind out.

"Very well." He undoes one of the cuffs. "Play with yourself, Fox." He sits back, watching, and I close my eyes, wondering what jerk-off fantasy to use. Usually, it involves enormous-breasted blonde women, but somehow I'm not in the mood for that right now. I remember that first time Skinner "took" me, the wild animal roar as he came. Those bites that marked me, that first bath, his body floating against mine, his heavy, naked scalp on my bare chest. My cock is hard, swollen, and I pump myself effortlessly to climax.

"Bravo." He claps slowly, sarcastically. "You'll do for him what you wouldn't do to save yourself last night. I'm impressed."

He walks over to the telephone, and picks it up, and I listen in disbelief as he requests the services of a doctor.

"Thank you." I mutter when he finishes. He grins.

"For what? Let me tell you a secret, Fox. I like Mr. Skinner - he's the sort of man I approve of. Tomorrow night he will have to prove that he is strong enough to join us. I hope he is. I need the challenge of a man like him, to keep me interested in the thrill of the fight. Of course, theoretically, his choice of opponent is completely random, but I've never been terribly keen on leaving things in the lap of the gods, so to speak." His mouth turns up at the corners in a grim, humorless, utterly ruthless smile. "The man I have in mind for him to fight is strong, so if Skinner is to stand any chance at all, I'll have to see that he's fitter than he is right now. You were just the icing on the cake. I'd have called for a doctor whether you agreed to be mine or not. I always intended to. I was just intrigued by you, and thought that I'd test your limits. I'm pleased to say that you remain one of the more interesting submissives I've ever met."

"You bastard." I say quietly. "You put me through all that because..."

"I wanted you. Yes." He shrugs. "And I very nearly had you."

"What sort of a man are you?" I ask him, as genuinely intrigued by him as he has been by me.

"Extraordinary, I believe." He grins.

"Didn't you ever want a normal life? To settle down, with one person..."

"Oh I have a wife." He laughs at my surprise.

"Does she play these sorts of games with you?"

"No. Oh dear me, no!" He laughs again. "She's another top, dear Fox. I believe she has her own little harem of slaves - girls as well as boys. I don't inquire too much - that's entirely her affair. I give her notice when I intend to visit and she sees that they are discreetly out of sight during my stay. We're very fond of other, although we don't actually live together - we appreciate each other more this way."

"And kids?" I ask.

"Two. A boy and a girl. Both flown the nest now, and doing very well in their respective fields."

"And if they ended up in a place like this? What would you think then?" I can't help but be fascinated by him.

He shrugs. "That would be their choice. Everyone must find their own way to fulfilment."

"You do know that you're fucking crazy, don't you?" I say, because I can be crazy too, but he doesn't even look angry at that remark.

"No more so than a man who can sleep next to someone every night, and yet never realize how profoundly in love he is." He grins at me, then abruptly, the smile fades and he fingers the bruise on his neck. "Now, what shall we do about this?" he asks, looming over me threateningly. "The penalty for striking a master is usually severe." He is looking at me intently. "A spell in the Zone usually works." A knowing smile plays around his lips. He knows how fucking scared I am of that place. "What do you say, Fox? Technically speaking, you still belong to me, and if I want to put you in the Zone, I can. Does it appeal, hmm?" He strokes my hair softly, like a kind lover, not a crazy pervert.

"No. You know it doesn't." I choke.

"And would you beg me?" He whispers. "Beg me not to put you there, Fox."

"Please. Don't put me in the Zone. Please, master." I beg, with total honesty. I'm completely freaked by the thought of ending up in the Zone and he knows it.

"It could be just what you need." He says, caressing my face lightly. I close my eyes and clench my fists, taking a deep breath. "Does it scare you?" His voice is sibilant in my ear. "I like your fear, Fox. Tell me how much it scares you."

"I'm fucking scared. Please don't do it. Please." I tell him sincerely. He looks at me for a long time and then laughs.

"Well, how sweet. Poor boy - you really mean that. I think we'll save the Zone for another day. I like teasing you with the threat of it. One day I might show you the reality, but I'm going to let you sweat a little bit more first. It's more fun this way." I breathe a huge sigh of relief as he undoes my other cuff. "Run along now, Fox. You've amused me enough. Go back to Mr. Skinner. The doctor will be here shortly. Next time I see you, I expect you to be dressed according to your status." He warns, and with that, he ushers me peremptorily from his room, handing me my clothes, and closing the door curtly behind me.

Skinner is still asleep when I return to our room. He has a spread of yellowing bruises along the left hand side of his jaw, and a series of purple ones by his cheekbone. One of his eyes is slightly puffy, and there's a cut on his forehead. If I pull the sheet down, I know I'll find dozens more cuts and bruises. The location of each and every one is etched in my memory - I could tell you where any single one is without even looking. I wonder if he looked like this back in Vietnam, after he nearly died. I try to picture him scared and vulnerable, but I can't. He isn't any of those things to me. Even lying here, wounded and in pain, he still retains those qualities that make him the person whom Saunders is convinced I am in love with. In love? With this man? A week ago I'd have said anyone suggesting it had to be crazy. Now, I don't know. I pull on my designer slave boy jeans, and take up a protective position at the foot of the bed, watching him sleep.

The doctor arrives an hour or so later. He's young, and nervous-looking, and quite clearly he's undergone Saunders's "breaking" treatment at some point in his past. His examination wakens my bleary-eyed lover, although I'm not convinced that he really knows what's going on. Saunders stands back by the door, watching the proceedings with his usual predatory air.

"He needs to be in hospital." The doctor mumbles, unable to look Saunders in the eye.

"We all have needs that can't be met." Saunders shrugs. "He has to fight, Adam. Tomorrow evening. You can fix him up well enough for that, can't you?"

"Well...I ..." Adam looks at Skinner and back at Saunders. Saunders steps forward, and puts his arm around the young man's neck, soothing him.

"It's okay. Just one fight. If he wins, he can go straight to hospital."

"And if he loses?" I ask hotly.

"Then it won't matter." Saunders shrugs. "So, Adam, just get him well enough to fight. The rest is out of your hands."

"I could give him something..." Adam bites down on his lip. "It will help him in the short term."

"Well then!" Saunders beams. "That's all we care about isn't it?"

"No." I state flatly. "It isn't. What is this stuff you're planning on giving him?"

"It's..." Adam won't meet my eyes either. "It's a drug that you won't have heard of. I can inject him and he'll feel better but..."

"But?"

"Sometimes there are side effects later. And he won't really be better. I mean, the underlying causes of his illness will still be there. You said something about a damaged kidney?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he needs to get that checked out in hospital. He might need some special medication, or even an operation." He bites his lip again, his eyes sliding in all directions. I sense a serious battle between his medical ethics and his obedience to Saunders.

"This drug you're planning on giving him - is it dangerous?" I demand. Adam shifts anxiously from foot to foot.

"It can be." He shrugs uneasily.

"Then the answer is no." I say firmly. "Saunders this has to end. He has to go to a hospital."

"Nonsense." Saunders puts his arm around my shoulder now, and leads me away to a corner of the room. "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear," he tells me in a low tone. "When Skinner leaves here, he will either have become a fully initiated member of Mithras, or..." he shrugs.

"Or what?" I hold my breath, already knowing the answer.

"Or he's nothing at all." Saunders states ambiguously.

"I see." I stare him straight in the eye. I'm dealing with a crazy man here; there's no sense reasoning with him.

"So what's it to be?" Saunders asks. "Do we give him the medication, or do we just leave nature to take its course and hope that he can stand, let alone fight?"

"Give him the fucking medication." I turn away, unable to watch, knowing that I might have just signed his death warrant, but convinced that I have no other option.

"All done." Saunders taps me on the shoulder a few seconds later. "Adam is leaving a second dose by his bed. You can administer that to him yourself tomorrow."

"No fucking way." I shake my head.

"Well, as you wish." He laughs, and ushers the pathetic Adam out of the room.

The difference in Skinner is amazing. He's up within hours, pacing around the room, his pupils dilated.

"I'm fine. I feel fine." He can't sit still for a minute. "I could fight now. Hell, I could fight ten men right this second."

"A few hours ago you couldn't even stand up," I tell him. "It's just the drug talking. Sit down and conserve your strength."

"Nah. This is great. Nothing hurts. I feel like...I feel like I could fly." He grins broadly, and flexes his muscles.

"Well you can't. So just lie down, and shut up."

"What's up with you?" He does at least manage to sit down for five seconds, grabbing my face, and looking me in the eye, before his restless legs make him resume that pacing.

"I'm thinking."

"Don't worry. I'm going to win. I'm going to beat this guy, whoever it is, and..."

"It'll be Matt." I tell him.

"How do you know that?" He frowns, pausing by the armchair, and then setting off for another circuit around the room.

"Because Saunders doesn't like him. Saunders told me that your opponent is supposed to be an arbitrary choice - I'd guess he's probably chosen by lot. But Saunders will manipulate the draw, and it will be Matt. Saunders wants to get rid of Matt, and for some inexplicable reason, he's taken a liking to you."

"Inexplicable?" He raises an eyebrow. "I'm a likeable person."

"Have it your own way." I shrug. "If you think it's a compliment to be liked by a crazy, sadistic, madman who is, in all likelihood, a murderer, then that's up to you. Personally, I prefer my testimonials to come from more reputable sources."

"Like Mufon? Or the Society For Disadvantaged Mutants?" He grins, doing some irritating little jogging steps, and jabs a punch at an imaginary opponent. I could grow to seriously dislike him when he's like this. "So, you think Saunders is our murderer?" He lunges at his non-existent assailant, but his body isn't anywhere near as agile as his mind thinks it is, and he stumbles and falls on top of me, all 200 pounds of him, crushing the breath out of me.

"For fuck's sake, just sit down and be quiet." I gasp, pushing him off me. He lies on the bed, winded.

"I can see grapefruits." He tells me, pointing at the ceiling.

"Grapefruits?" As drugs go, whatever he was given obviously lacks some of the more psychedelic delights of say, LSD, or hash. Not that I'm a frigging expert, I hasten to add.

"Yeah. Big yellow ones. God, I could murder for something citrus right now. Go and get me something, Fox." He turns his big brown eyes on me, and for the first time in his life, I suspect, he has a winsome, appealing, almost puppyish look on his face. It's not a pleasant sight. It doesn't sit well on those blunt, stern, no-nonsense features.

"Oh, all right. But only if you lie there, and don't move until I get back."

I set off wearily for the kitchen, and find him some oranges. When I return, I find him out of breath, and he has a guilty expression on his face. He launches himself at the bed, trying to pretend he never left it, so it's gratifying to note that I'm not the only one who has trouble with this whole obedience thing. I toss him an orange, and he misses it.

"Here. Follow my finger." I wave my index finger in front of his face, and he follows it for a second with his eyes, and then they wander over to the dropped orange. "I said, follow it." I jerk his attention back, but he clearly has the concentration span of a small child right now, so I give up, and recover the orange. He takes it eagerly but his fingers are shaking, and he drops it again. I retrieve it with a sigh, and peel it for him while he goes for another run around the room. He's making me dizzy. "If you sit down and stay quiet you can have the orange." I bribe quite blatantly, and he nods, and sits down on the bed, opening his mouth for me to feed him segments. I'm not sure he could manage the co-ordination required to actually place the food into his mouth without dropping it, or crashing it into his nose.

Then, suddenly, without any warning, he just drops, falling back on the bed as if the life has been sucked from him. I look at my watch. His burst of energy lasted a little over an hour. My eyes travel over to the medicine that Adam, the so-called 'doctor', has left. Skinner's concentration might be shot to pieces, and his co-ordination minimal, but the drug might represent the best chance he has. I resolve to save it for the last minute and I know that I'll use it if I have to, despite my earlier protestations to the contrary.

"I fucking hurt." He moans as the pain comes flooding back into his body and his raw nerve endings scream with the shock of it.

"It's okay." I whisper. I pull him up the bed to make him more comfortable, and hold his limp body cradled loosely against my chest, kissing his smooth scalp.

"Fucking, fucking hurts." He writhes for a moment, and I figure that this must be a side effect of the drug, and that whatever pain he's experiencing must be intense. He's never exactly been the sort of guy to complain about physical discomfort. I've seen him after he's been shot and he didn't even notice the wound until I pointed it out.

"Okay. Just lie still." I stroke my fingers against his head as he twists and turns. Sweat is beading his naked scalp and I wipe it off, gently. Finally he calms down.

"You were saying something about Saunders being the murderer," he mumbles at last, trying to distract himself.

"Yeah. He's certainly the brains behind this whole sick organization. And he's ruthless enough to be the murderer, but the final piece of the puzzle hasn't slotted into place in my head yet. I've worked some of it out. I know Saunders wants to get shot of Matt. I know he'd prefer it if you took Matt's place, and that's why you'll find yourself facing Matt tomorrow evening. Saunders has implied that this is a final, deciding fight..."

"A fight to the death?" Skinner moves his head, and looks up at me. His eyes are cloudy and tired, but he's still trying to follow what I'm saying.

"I'm not sure. Saunders indicated something different. That's the part that's eating me." His body convulses unexpectedly in my arms, and I hold him down until the fit passes. "It's okay. I'm here." I murmur, stroking his head softly, but I'm freaked out by his state of health. Surely one more fight will kill him? He's not superhuman, much as I like to project that image onto him sometimes. That makes me laugh, remembering Krypton, and that cheesy Superman routine we witnessed.

"What?" He mutters.

"I just had a mental image of you - in blue tights, with a big 'S' on your latex-clad chest."

"You don't think I could carry off the tights?"

"With those legs, Mr Beefcake? Are you kidding! I'd take photos, and distribute them around the Bureau for everyone to admire."

"Nobody would recognize me without my glasses," he points out. "That's the whole thing about Superman. That's what you're talking about isn't it? 'S 'for 'Superman'? That loony Krypton thing?"

"Nah. 'S' for Skinner." I kiss him tenderly on the head, and watch as his eyes close. I'm not sure that I recognize him without his metaphorical glasses. He's everything I knew him to be, but in ways a hundred times more complex and compelling than I would ever have imagined. Now has been a really stupid time to fall in love.

His health has improved marginally by the following afternoon. With three hours to go until the scheduled fight, I outline our options to him, the syringe and small vial of medication held between my nerveless fingers.

"The way I see it, there aren't any options." He sighs wearily. He looks like death - as white as one of his own dress shirts, making the multi-hued bruises on his face stand out in stark relief. "I can't fight Matt, or anyone, like this. Hell, even you could beat me right now."

"I'm not a complete wuss." I reply stiffly. "I have been known to win the occasional fight."

"Next you'll be telling me you never drop your gun either," he teases.

"Ha, ha. I always knew that grim exterior hid a sense of humor, somewhere, several layers deep. I'm so fucking glad I never made an effort to find it before. Are you always this flippant when facing life and death situations?"

"You're never satisfied are you? Last time we were facing a fight, you bitched that I wasn't flippant enough!" He exclaims. "It's the only way to be when you're looking forward to either the welcoming hug of initiation into an insane cult or summary castration, though." He shrugs. "So, when do you inject me?"

"There is another option." I state carefully, looking at him.

"What's that?" His head jerks up in surprise.

"Have you considered telling them who we are? We might be able to scare them into letting us go."

"Are you kidding?" He shakes his head.

"It might be worth a try..."

"Fox." He interrupts me. "I won't pretend that I haven't thought about it. I've rolled a lot of options around in my head, and this is one of them, but it's not a good idea. It's a huge gamble - they might just cut their losses, kill the pair of us and run. They are unlikely to just let us go. Let's be frank about this - I'm the only one who stands to die in the next few hours. The sensible decision has to be that I take that risk. At least you'll still be around by the time help arrives to tell the investigative team what happened, and give evidence. It's a simple evaluation of risk. We either put both our lives in jeopardy, or just mine. No contest really." He shrugs.

"Fuck." I bury my head in my knees, and lace my arms together over my neck.

"Fox?" His head appears in front of my knees as he tries to see what's going on with me.

"Back in your office, days ago, you said that you couldn't evaluate the risk to yourself. You warned me, Lenny warned me. Everybody fucking warned me but I wouldn't listen." I mumble incoherently into my jeans.

"It's too late for regrets now." He shrugs, and disentangles my arms from around my neck, lifting my face up. "We're here. We have a job to do. Don't wallow in guilt, Mulder. I need you sharp for the next few hours. I'm not sure I'm thinking as clearly as I could be. If it's any consolation, I promise that if we ever get out of here alive, I'll make you regret disobeying my orders, big time. How's that?"

"Fine by me." I smile weakly.

"Good." He picks up the syringe and vial, and hands them to me. "Time for my medication, Doctor."

Saunders makes an appearance a few hours later.

"Feeling better I hope, Mr. Skinner?" He asks. Skinner nods, his knees already beginning to twitch with energy, which I'm grateful for. It means I timed the medication right.

"Is it time to go?" Skinner asks.

"Not quite yet. I came here to get Fox." Saunders beckons to me.

"Why, where are we going?" I demand, fighting down a wave of panic.

"Just follow me, Fox. You're in no position to argue." Saunders looks at Skinner who sighs, and nods.

"Do as he says." He shrugs wearily. I want to do something embarrassingly mushy, like kiss the lips right off his face, but I restrain myself. Skinner just isn't that kind of guy. I never thought I was that kind of guy either. The heady combination of sex and fighting, and the constant threats of fates worse than death are clearly having a mind-altering effect on me. It could be a good topic for a thesis, if I live to write it. I follow Saunders to the slave-pen where I'm surprised to find the entire submissive population of Mithras assembled.

"Sit down on one of the bunks, Fox." Saunders nods his head pleasantly.

"Why? What's happening? What's going on?" I sit down as instructed and he grabs my hand, and before I know it I find myself handcuffed to the bunk. "Let me go. Fuck, what is this?" I tug on the cuff, and he smiles at me, and pats my head.

"We know what you're like, don't we, Fox?" He sighs with mock regret. "It's safer to have you firmly locked away so that you're not tempted to pry where you shouldn't."

"You can't do this. For fuck's sake let me be with him, if he's going to die." I pull on the cuff, but Saunders takes no notice and, with a smile to Nick, he turns on his heel and leaves the pen.

"Nick - what's going on?" I ask desperately when Saunders has gone.

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Every so often we get put in here and told to wait. Later on they let us out. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal, Nick." I tell him forcefully. "While you're all locked away in here, they are doing something crazy. You have to help me to escape."

"I can't do that." He looks aghast at the very thought of disobeying Saunders.

"You have to." I tell him urgently. "Nick - haven't you noticed that one of the tops always disappears after these sessions?"

Nick licks his lips nervously, and puts a finger over his mouth.

"Ssh, Fox. Don't talk about that. They just leave, they move on. That's all." He says, in a frightened tone of voice.

"Nick, they don't move on. They're killed - in the most brutal manner you could possibly imagine. You have to help me."

Nick stands there, looking agonized. "Killed?" He whispers.

"Yes. Castrated. They bleed to death."

"Who would do that? Not Aaron, he couldn't..." Nick's voice trails off, and I know he doesn't really believe that. The strength that he so admires in his lover could easily lend itself to a more extreme form of violence than could be sated in the Arena. "Are you saying that Aaron...?" He whispers, his eyes horrified.

"No. No, I'm not." I tell him, suddenly figuring it all out in that one moment. The final piece of the jigsaw clicks effortlessly into place, and I now understand why what Skinner said to me, and what I said to him, back in his office, days ago, has been bugging me. "It isn't Aaron, although he's almost certainly the one behind it. Nick, please. You have to help me. If you don't you'll be an accessory to murder. Please." I beg him frantically.

"Okay. Okay." He whispers, casting an anxious glance around the rest of the room, but there won't be any opposition from the other subs. "How can I help?"

"Is the door locked?" I ask him. He nods.

"Get a piece of wire - from a coat hanger or something like that." He quickly finds something that will do, and I instruct him to twist it, and insert it into the cuff. He pokes around ineffectually for several anxious minutes until I'm practically crying with frustration. It's past eleven now. The fight might have already started. Please god, no! One of the other subs comes over to us.

"I can do it." He offers. I recognize Matt's slave, and smile at him encouragingly. "I, uh, used to be good at this sort of thing," he says mysteriously, without elaborating further. Within seconds, he's sprung the lock, and I'm free.

"What about the main door? Could you do that too?" I ask him and he nods, pleased to be of use. Soon that lock yields to his expert touch as well. "Do you know the way to the Arena from here?" I ask Nick, and he nods. "Take me there." I command, and he hesitates for a moment, but he's come this far, so eventually he nods, and leads the way. I break into a jog beside him, forcing him to hurry. It's twenty past eleven. Skinner could already be dead or dying.

I'm not sure what I intend to do, just that I must let Skinner know what I've figured out, because he doesn't understand what a no-win situation he's in. I skid to a halt outside the Arena. It's deathly quiet - none of the usual roaring of the crowd, but I can hear the rasping breathing and slugging sounds of two men fighting. This is stupid. I should try something else. Perhaps, go back to the Bat Cave, try to get out that way. Even if I'm caught, it could be a diversion, a distraction from what is about to take place - but it's too late. As I turn around, I find myself face to face with one of the guards.

We're marched into the Arena at gunpoint. I could kick myself again - of course Saunders would have his guards out in full on a night like this. The flames of the torches in the Arena are low, and I pause, stupefied by the sight that greets me. The tops are standing around the edges of the Arena, giving the two combatants plenty of room to maneuver, but that isn't what alarms me. Everyone, except the fighters, is wearing masks - stupid, ridiculous masks in the shape of bull's heads, complete with horns, that totally obscure their faces. I feel like I'm in a bad "b" movie, and any minute now a half naked, heaving-bosomed girl will rush past screaming "It's alive!" and point at a slithering, blood-sucking reptilian life form, or a killer vegetable. No such luck. Instead I'm pushed into the Arena, and the fighting comes to an abrupt stop.

"Who interrupts our ceremony?" A voice I recognize as Saunders's demands from behind a mask. He strides angrily towards us. "So, Fox. Your curiosity might finally be your undoing. And as for you." His eyes glare at Nick from behind the mask, and Nick wilts, seriously scared by the bizarre nature of the proceedings, throwing himself at Saunders's feet in misery.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry," he sobs.

"The punishment for this might well be more than you can survive." Saunders tells him coldly, picking him up, and throwing him bodily across the room towards the post. He fastens the hapless Nick there with a cuff, and then returns for me. "As you wanted to be witnesses, then by all means, join us." Saunders hisses, taking hold of my hair, and dragging me across the room, before handcuffing me as well.

Skinner barely spares me a glance. His entire being is focused on Matt, who is his opponent as I predicted he would be. All Skinner's waning energy is fixed on the fight that he knows he has to win if he wants to stay alive. Only it won't make any difference. Winning will just hurl him into a different nightmare. There is no oil on their bodies, no melodrama, just a grim, intense fight to decide who stays alive, and who dies. Matt knows what the penalty for losing is, and Skinner can guess, but he doesn't know all of it. I try to attract his attention with my eyes, but he's stubbornly focused.

"The fight will continue." Saunders announces grimly, and Matt and Skinner stop eyeballing each other, and return once more to the cold, quiet battle that will end in the death of one or other of them. I find I even miss the atmosphere of the other fights, the drama and excitement. I've seen some sights in my time that have scared me witless, but none more so than standing in this silent room, watching these two men fight in front of all these silent witnesses in their masks. The only sound is the grunting, rasping noise of the fight and Nick's scared, muffled sobs as he crouches against the post, his head buried in his knees.

Matt slugs a blow at Skinner, who side-steps it easily, the medication filling him with that same buzzing energy that he had yesterday. Only he can't control his movements, so his side-step ends in a sloping fall to one side, and he ends up near my feet. I crouch down beside him.

"I've finally figured it all out." I whisper as he shakes his head, his eyes fixed on Matt, who's advancing on him.

"Oh yeah?" He gets to his feet, and lumbers back into the circle like a bear who's been swung around until he's dizzy. Matt launches himself at him, and Skinner gets in a powerful blow to Matt's body, throwing him off to one side with a roar. Skinner follows him, but Matt escapes, dancing around the edge of the circle. Skinner is soon back within earshot as he chases after his opponent.

"Yeah - Saunders isn't the murderer. At least..." Skinner ducks to avoid a blow, and I take it instead, square on the jaw, flinging me back against the post. "Thanks, boss." I mutter under my breath, but the fighting has moved away again. I rub my jaw, and watch as Matt dances around while Skinner tries to focus on him. I remember the orange yesterday. Skinner's focusing skills are not exactly finely honed at the moment, and, without his glasses, they're probably practically zero. Matt doesn't realize this though, and he wears himself out, dancing around while Skinner just stands there, patiently, waiting until a target looms into view, and then flailing his fists at it for all he's worth. Matt ends up in the floor at my feet, and Skinner throws himself on top of him, pummeling his face into the sand.

"So, who is the murderer?" Skinner grunts, getting hold of Matt's face, and head-butting him squarely across his already bruised nose. Matt squeals. Skinner delivers a backhand across Matt's jaw, another going the other way, a third under Matt's chin, and Matt finally lies still in the sand, out cold. Skinner gets up and staggers over to me, looking at me questioningly. "Well?" He whispers.

"Tonight? You are." I tell him.

The room is suddenly galvanized into action. Matt is swept up onto the shoulders of half a dozen of the tops, and a low humming has begun. Skinner looks around in alarm, and Nick's sobbing goes up a decibel. I wish he'd shut up.

"Now might be a good time to tell them we're FBI agents." I hiss at Skinner.

"No. I told you. That's not an option." He frowns at me.

"You don't understand..."

"Yes. I do." The stubborn bastard shakes his head. At that moment Saunders appears.

"Congratulations, Mr. Skinner." He holds out his hand. "Welcome to Mithras!" He refrains from giving one of those long, sinister laughs so beloved of the villains in all good 'b' movies, which I personally find disappointing considering the circumstances. Instead, he shakes Skinner's hand, and draws him towards the chapel.

"Oh shit." I mutter under my breath. Nick starts to whimper, looking up at me with scared eyes.

"Bring them. They wanted to see, so let them see, everything!" Saunders says, and the guards unfasten us from the post and drag us bodily behind the grim, humming, line of men as they carry Matt's prone body into the other room. We then form a procession, going down the aisle of the chapel with Matt's body raised high in front of us, before ending up by the locked door at the end of the room. Oh shit, it's the one where we weren't allowed to go before. If this were a movie, now would be a really good time to be rescued. It doesn't happen.

Saunders unlocks the door, and we find ourselves in an empty room - empty save for a huge iron grille suspended over two blocks of stone. On the floor under the grille, there are ominous signs of spilt blood. Hanging on the wall, is a huge sacrificial blade, and above that, is another of those murals depicting a bullfight. Only this time, the bull is already dead, its blood spilling out, and bathing the naked initiate standing below.

"Oh fuck." Skinner says, coming to a sudden halt, and making me bump into him. Saunders goes on ahead, escorting the procession to the grille, laying Matt out on top of it, undressing him.

"Yeah." I whisper. "That's what was bugging me. You remember that you said that one of the features of the ancient Mithras religion was being bathed in bull's blood...?"

"Yeah..." He's nodding and swaying at the same time.

"And I said that you don't find too many bulls roaming down your average street in Washington, DC?"

"Yeah. I remember that bit too." He nods again.

"Well, I think they've found a substitute bull." I finish. He looks at me, his eyes aghast as the full horror of it sinks in.

"Complicity." I whisper. "They're all murderers. Everyone who has joined - although I suspect they've been on recruitment drive recently, hence the plethora of dead bodies in the past few months. Saunders might be behind that."

"I'm supposed to...I've got to...?" His face is deathly pale.

"Yeah. It will ensure your silence. They all have too much to lose. Most cults use shared guilt as a means of ensuring their members' loyalty and silence, but the Mithras method is particularly effective in a uniquely grotesque way. It's pretty neat." I grin. He's not the only one who can smile in the face of fates worse than death.

"And if I refuse?" He whispers.

"Guess who ends up in the hotspot then." I murmur. He staggers against me, and I hold him up. The drug is obviously wearing off.

Matt has been secured tightly to the grille, and his head starts to move. He's groaning weakly, and his eyes open. He realizes what is happening, and screams at the top of his lungs.

"NO. You can't....NO!!!" He tries to struggle, but he must know that it isn't any use.

"First the carving." Saunders announces, taking down the sacrificial knife. We lean closer, in awed and morbid fascination, as Saunders inserts the knife into Matt's flesh, clumsily carving out the Taurean symbol we saw on those dead bodies we fished out of the Potomac. Matt screams, more from fear and knowledge of what will happen next, than real pain, as the cuts are only skin deep. Saunders finishes his task, and hands the blade to the next man. We watch in mute horror as the carving takes place, and then Skinner is beckoned forward.

"No." He says firmly to me, and I shut my mouth before I can even open it. "You do not tell them. I am still the only one at risk here," he mutters grimly. He goes up to the grille, and Saunders holds the knife out to him.

"First, you carve the symbol in his flesh, then you offer him up as a sacrifice." He murmurs to Skinner. I wonder if Skinner is the only one on drugs here this evening. Either that, or the sinister, scarily sane, albeit sociopathic, Saunders, is able to psyche himself into this sort of madness at will. Skinner stands there, looking down on Matt's body.

"Death by castration." Saunders whispers. "An offering to Mithras. Then you will disrobe, and stand beneath the grille to be soaked in the sacrificial blood. Only then will you be accepted into our brotherhood."

"And if I refuse?" Skinner asks.

"Then you will take his place on the sacrificial table. There must be an offering tonight."

"NO!" Matt screams again, and beside me, Nick sinks to the ground, a gibbering wreck. Skinner takes the knife, and stands there, looking down on Matt's body, and I know he can't do it. He's spent his life upholding justice and the rule of law, I don't think that's about to change now. He'd rather die than be complicit in this murder. He takes a deep breath, raises the knife, then turns, trying to grasp Saunders, to hold the knife to Saunders's throat, and take him hostage, but his co-ordination isn't up to the task, and Saunders side-steps him, making Skinner fall clumsily to the ground. I'm not physically able to breathe as Saunders stands astride Skinner, and relieves him of the knife. If there wasn't a gun pressed into the back of my neck, nothing could stop me from running forward at this moment.

"So, Mr. Skinner, is that your choice?" Saunders asks.

"It's the only choice I can make." Skinner shrugs, trying to get to his feet.

"How disappointing." Saunders murmurs, starting to untie Matt. "I had such high hopes for you, Mr. Skinner. Prepare him." He gestures with his head in Skinner's direction, and the other members of the cult begin that keening hum, descending on my lover.

"Stop!" Someone shouts. I'm as surprised as anyone to discover that it's me. I take a careful step forward, aware of the gun pressed against my neck. "This has to come to an end right now." I tell them. "Nobody is going to die here this evening. I'm a special agent with the FBI, and this is the Assistant Director in charge of Criminal Investigations. That makes him a powerful and important man. I promise you, that if you kill him, you'll have more federal agents chasing you than you have any chance of evading, to say nothing of every police department in every state in the country. There won't be anywhere you can hide. We'll track down each and every one of you."

Saunders is staring at me, clearly unsure whether to believe me or not. Skinner is sighing.

"I mean it." I tell Saunders. "The first body was fished out of the Potomac 3 months ago. Then nothing for several weeks. Then 4 more bodies in quick succession. We soon knew that we were chasing a serial killer. Immediately I recognized the ritualistic elements of the murders, such as the mutilations, and the use of the bull symbol. I was assigned to the case, and the Assistant Director took personal charge of the investigation."

The information I have given him is enough to make Saunders think twice. He pauses, and glances at Skinner, who pointedly refuses to speak.

"Do you feel lucky?" I ask Saunders. "You could kill us, but our investigative team knows who you are, and they will be searching for us. You don't have much time, Saunders."

He hesitates for a long moment, weighing up his options.

"Why not run another check on us." I tell him urgently. "Make a few phone calls, ask a few questions around my apartment block. You know where I live. You'll soon discover that I'm telling the truth."

Saunders removes the bull mask, looking keenly from Skinner to me, and back again.

"I think," he murmurs, "that we have a small hiccup in the proceedings."

"I suppose it's too much to hope that one day you'll follow one of my orders." Skinner grumbles as we are ushered down the corridor at gun-point.

"I was buying you time. Three more minutes, and you'd have lost a part of yourself I've grown pretty damn fond of, another five, and I'd have lost you altogether."

"As it is, guess where we're both going to end up," he murmurs.

"Oh shit." I can feel myself start to tremble as Saunders stops outside the Zone, and unlocks the door. "Fuck, fuck, shit."

Skinner puts one arm around my shoulders as we are pushed inside, and the door is locked behind us. Saunders escorts us into the darkness of the Zone, and then unlocks another door. I stand on the threshold, my hands on either side of the door frame, resisting the inevitable for as long as possible. The guard raises his gun high to thwack it across my head and force me inside, but Skinner intervenes smoothly, unhooking my fingers, and pushes me through the door, following me. In the center of the room is one of those racks we saw that guy attached to. I find myself swallowing convulsively.

"Later." Saunders says, and it's a threat.

"Later." Skinner shrugs, standing up tall and looking Saunders calmly in the eye. I breathe a sigh of relief as the door is shut behind us and locked, and I hear footsteps moving away, back up the corridor. It's dark and damp, but at least nobody has tried to hook us up to anything. Skinner slumps wearily down on the ground, his legs giving out, while I pace the confines of our cell, looking for a way out that I know doesn't exist.

"Why did they put us in here?" I ask him.

"Because it's the most secure area in this place, and given your Houdini abilities, he clearly doesn't want to take any chances."

"What do you think will happen next?" I finish my circuit of the cell, coming to the reluctant, if inevitable conclusion that there aren't any hidden doors.

"Saunders will run some more checks. He'll find out that you are telling the truth. Then he'll decide whether or not to kill us." Skinner informs me bluntly.

"And will he?" I ask, my fingers idly scraping black mould off the walls. "Kill us, I mean?"

"He might. He'll have to weigh that against allowing us to go free knowing what we know. My guess is that he'll do something else entirely."

"What?"

"He'll just leave us here." Skinner says with a deep sigh.

"What? Forever?" I can feel myself starting to shiver. He isn't telling me anything I haven't worked out for myself, but hearing it spoken out loud just confirms it.

"That's right. He'll close this whole operation down and move on. They'll all scatter - new names, new identities. Saunders knows he's had his fun with this particular little operation."

"And what about Kendall and the cavalry? Supposing they don't get here in time?" I sit down next to him.

"Well you don't need me to answer that." He says, the whites of his eyes just visible in the dark. "We can survive for a few weeks without food, although you're a bit on the skinny side." He pokes my bare ribs. "But as for water...unless we can lick some moisture off the walls, I'd give us less than a week."

"I thought you said Kendall was good." I accuse. "I mean how long have we fucking been here? If he's your idea of good..."

"I didn't say he was fast - but he is very thorough."

"Great. So, by the time he gets here, all that will be left of us is our bones, but at least he'll have dotted all the i's, and crossed the t's, and obeyed all the right rules, and followed procedure..." I rant, with as much sarcasm as I can muster. "Have you ever wondered if you have your priorities straight? I mean, you chew out your think-on-their-feet type agents, and pat the plodders on the back. Is this fair?"

"Mulder, I've been more than fair to you over the years," he states patiently. "You have no idea what pressure has been put on me to close the X Files at various points in your illustrious career."

"You did close the X Files once." I remind him.

"And then I opened them again. Your point is?"

"Oh nothing. I'm hungry already. And cold. And I hate this damn place." I shiver violently, and he reaches out a tired arm, and drags my body against his for warmth. I can hear the beating of his heart against my own - like me, he isn't wearing a shirt. His heartbeat is too fast, and I wonder what havoc that drug is wreaking in his bloodstream. Maybe he'll die before I do, and I'll have to sit for days in the dark with a corpse. That thought just makes me shiver again, even more violently than before, and he wraps both his arms around me, and holds me tight.

"When we get back, the first thing I'm going to do is make myself a massive bologna sandwich," he murmurs, fantasizing idly.

"Really? When we get back the first thing I'm going to do is put on a damn shirt and some shoes." I tell him.

"No point doing that when the second thing I'm going to do is take them all off again." His lips nuzzle my ear.

"This sounds more like it. The second thing I'm going to do is undress you. Slowly. The third thing I'm going to do is lick you all over, the fourth thing I'm going to do is to wrap my mouth around..."

"All right, Mulder, don't labor the joke." He interrupts, shifting uncomfortably, but I can feel the sudden hardness in his pants. That's my man - even after 3 grueling fighting sessions, a high fever, being drugged up to the eyeballs, forced to participate in a macabre, cult sacrifice, threatened with possible castration, and imprisoned in a damp dungeon, he can still get a hard on. I've chosen well here.

"Did you think you'd die like this?" I ask him. "I always thought I'd die from a bullet to the head, courtesy of the Consortium, or from some genetic mutation that speeded up my aging process, or maybe as the victim of rampaging killer bees."

"Did you? I always thought you'd die 52 light years away on some alien planet," he remarks. "That is, after all, where you seem to have been living for the past few years."

"You know, there's something very disturbing about a man who only discovers his sense of humor in life or death situations." I remark pointedly. He doesn't reply because he's suddenly wracked by a series of those spasms that he experienced yesterday. I can hear his rasping breathing, and inarticulate chokes of pain. I think I'd sell my soul several times over to be able to help him right now, but I can't do anything except allow him to grip my hands in time to each spasm, nearly breaking the bones in my fingers. Finally, the spasms pass, and he lies back weakly

"How about you?" I prompt desperately, trying to distract him from the pain. "How did you think you'd end up dying?" Granted, it's perhaps not the best topic of conversation to use as a distraction, but I'm improvising here.

"I feel as if I already died once. In Vietnam. After that every day has been a bonus."

"Yeah. But what I mean is, that I didn't think I'd end up dying here, lost, alone and forgotten in some dark prison cell."

"Lost? Maybe. Forgotten - with your record? I don't think so! And as for alone..." He kisses my hair. "Surely not that."

"No. Maybe not." We're silent for a long time, then I hear footsteps in the corridor, and get up, preparing to face the worst. The door is unlocked, and Saunders enters. He could be a different man - his demeanor is chilling. The sexual teasing has gone to be replaced by a cold, ruthless, business-like killer.

"Cursory checks seem to confirm your story. I must say I did wonder whether it wasn't all a ruse to save your lover." He looks at me sharply. "But it would seem that I have as my guests, Special Agent Mulder and Assistant Director Skinner of the FBI. You, in particular, Agent Mulder, seem to have a very dubious reputation. If I had known earlier what illustrious guests I was entertaining, I would have tried to make you feel much more at home. I'm sure it can't have been easy sharing accommodation at such close quarters, and play-acting your little love affair. Or was it play-acting?" He tilts his head on one side, and gazes pointedly at the fading bite-marks on my body.

"Cut the crap." Skinner growls from the floor behind me. "Just tell us what you're going to do with us."

"Do with you?" Saunders doesn't look at Skinner; his intense, blue eyed gaze is fixed on me. "I can tell you what I'd like to do with you," his eyes flicker over to the rack in the center of the room, "for interrupting my enjoyment and insinuating yourselves into our happy little community, like a virus." He's snarling now, genuinely aggrieved by our interference. Like psychos everywhere, he's shocked to find that he's subject to the same laws as everyone else. "Would you like me to talk you through every torment this device can deliver, Fox?" He hisses, grabbing hold of me by the scruff of my neck, and dragging me over to the rack. "The straps would hold you immobile. The gag would stop your screams." He pushes me against the contraption and I feel sick. "There are various ways in which this can be used," Saunders informs us, waving his hand expansively. "Personally I enjoy a little electricity." His hand rests lightly on a small battery pack with leads running from it, culminating in two sets of clamps. "Random current, differing in intensity," he informs me briskly. "The clamps can be attached in a variety of different places, but I think here, might prove to be fun." He brushes a metallic clip against one of my nipples and flicks a switch, sending a jolt of pain searing through me. I jump back, screaming out loud. "Of course when you're tied into the rack, escaping from the pain is impossible." He tells me, in that low intense voice. Skinner gets to his feet and lurches painfully over.

"Stop this." Skinner says forcefully. "We're not scared, Saunders."

"He is." Saunders nods his head in my direction, and he's right, I'm shaking. "The question is, would it be better to strap him in, and make you watch, or the other way around? The other tops like to visit the occupants of the Zone, and with two such illustrious guests, I'm sure there would soon be a queue outside the door. I imagine that they'd enjoy taking another top as well, Mr. Skinner. Which would be the most distressing, I wonder - watching the gang bang, or enduring it? We could tie one of you to the wall, and make you watch while the other is raped. Repeatedly." I weigh up the full horror of those two options, before deciding that watching would be worse. Like watching Sam flying out of my life forever, like watching Scully in a hospital bed, dying. Powerless to help, unable to intervene and save the people I care about most. Yes, it's definitely worse to stand by and watch.

"Neither option is going to happen." Skinner says firmly. "You have no intention of doing this, so you're just getting off on the power trip."

Saunders considers this for a moment and then, suddenly, the charm is back in place, and he laughs, silkily. "You seem very sure, Assistant Director." He murmurs.

"I am. The way I see it, your only possible use for us now is as hostages." Skinner shrugs. "You could kill us, or you could just clear out of here, and leave us, but the fact that you haven't done either of those things already, suggests that you've decided we have some value to you. I would have said that puts us firmly in the category of business, not pleasure, and I sense that you're not a man who likes to mix those two concepts. So you won't hurt us. You need us."

"Quite right." Saunders nods. "I intend to use your lives as a bargaining chip, to arrange safe passage for myself to a country that doesn't have extradition agreements with either Britain or the US. And you needn't imagine that a rescue is imminent, because this place is very well hidden. So, make yourselves at home." He waves his hand around expansively. "You could be here for a very long time indeed."

And with that he leaves us. Skinner sinks back down to the floor, leaning exhausted against the wall, breathing heavily.

"How does anyone get to be such a sick freak?" He asks me wearily.

"I don't know. But I think you're being unfair to freaks. He's way beyond that category." I move back from the rack, cautiously.

"People like him are the reason why I joined the FBI," he says. "I hate them... I want to..." His hands are balled into fists and, even in his weakened condition, I can see the burning desire for justice in his eyes. Shit, I love that about him. Sometimes when he's reading reports, and sitting behind his desk and holding meetings, it's hard to remember what the man is really about. There have been times when I've been certain he's been put on this earth for the sole purpose of making my life more difficult. Okay, so I sometimes have a Muldercentric view of the universe, and I'm convinced that everyone is out to make things hard for me. That's just me. Paranoid's my middle name. But there are times when I've reduced him to the status of "immovable object" to my "irresistible force", and, to my shame, I've stopped seeing the man and the motives underneath. Not now. I kneel down in front of him, and kiss him tenderly on the lips and he lies there, startled.

"What's that for?" He asks when I draw back.

"Reminding me." I state cryptically, sitting between his legs, my back pressed against his chest. He shifts to get into a more comfortable position.

"Fox, something's been bugging me," he murmurs.

"Hmm...what's that?" I ask.

He closes his arms around me, and I suddenly find that I can't move.

"What did you have to offer Saunders in order to get that doctor?" He whispers.

I stiffen, but I can't pull away from him, he's made sure of that.

"Nothing." I reply. "He wanted Matt to lose - he was happy to call the doctor in. I didn't have to give him anything."

"Don't lie to me, Fox." His voice is silky and dangerous next to my ear.

"I discussed the whole thing with you at the time." I mutter.

"I was unconscious at the time." He protests.

"That doesn't mean I didn't discuss it with you."

"Mulder. Just tell me." He insists.

"He wanted to own me - not just in name. He wanted me to be his, and to do that he had to break me. And he wanted to make me ask for that."

"And did you?" His arms tighten even more.

"Yes."

There's silence for a long while.

"So what happened to make him change his mind?" He whispers eventually.

"I tried to strangle him."

"You did what?" He asks incredulously.

"I punched him and tried to strangle him. See - I can fight."

"I've never disputed your ability to throw punches right, left and center whenever the mood takes you. That's not the same thing." He counters. "However I'll happily concede defeat on this one, if, in the next breath, you can tell me that the reason he let you go was because of your superior fighting ability."

There is another long silence. I see no reason why I should tell the truth about this. He'd never find out.

"Well?" He asks.

"Oh all right, so he fought back, and I ended up handcuffed to the bed. Happy now?"

"At the thought of you handcuffed to someone else's bed? What do you think?" He growls. "So, why did he let you go?"

"Because he knew he couldn't have what he really wanted."

"In what sense?" He sounds genuinely puzzled, and I pause for a moment, considering what to tell him. But we're locked up in a cell, and we're very probably about to die. Maybe now is the right time to talk about this. When the hell else will we get the chance?

"In the sense that I couldn't really be his when I'm in love with you."

His grip around my body loosens.

"Love?" He mutters, stroking my arms.

"Didn't I mention that?" I twist and look at him but it's too dark to read the expression on his face. "Yeah, okay, it's sappy, but under the circumstances I thought I should bring up the "L" word, seeing as our situation is fairly hopeless and the outlook bordering on bleak."

"Yes. Bleak." He says thoughtfully. "Thank you." He kisses my hair again but he doesn't say he returns my feelings, so I don't have a clue whether he does or not. He just holds me tight, and at some point we drift off to sleep, which is all there is to do, really.

"Well isn't this a cute sight!" An incongruous voice wakes me. Someone small and blonde is clapping his hands, and pointing at me. "Ooh, Mulder, you always were a lucky bastard! Lying there in the arms of the divine Skinner! Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." The face winks at me suggestively.

"Lenny?" I sit up, too quickly, my head spinning.

"That's right, honey, although you can just call me angel if you like. As in "guardian", or "face of an". I'm not picky about which." He simpers at me, helping me to my feet. "Ouch!" He catches sight of my still heavily welted back. "Someone's been having fun with you, sweetie. I hope the pleasure wasn't all one-sided!"

"Never mind." I find myself flushing furiously, and he stares at me.

"You know, I get the distinct impression that you've gotten a few things sorted out, honey." He grins. I turn back to Skinner who is jerking awake, his face confused.

"Lenny?" He squints through the darkness at our savior.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out!" Lenny pauses for a moment, and allows his salacious gaze to travel over Skinner's naked, if somewhat bruised, torso. "Mmmm... You do have good taste, Mulder." He whispers to me.

"Lenny, just shut up, and tell us what's happening." I growl, putting out a hand to help Skinner up.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. The macho boys are all in that big hall place with the sand..." he says.

"The Arena." I exchange a glance with Skinner.

"That's right." Lenny grins. "Agent Kendall was busy rounding them up when I last saw him. Now, he's a guy who knows how to take charge..." He sighs dreamily.

"Lenny!" Skinner snaps.

"What? Oh, yeah. So he was doing that, and the scary little red-haired woman was charging around looking for you, Mulder." Lenny winks at me again.

"Scully's here?" I feel a sense of relief wash over me. Being reunited with my best friend is exactly what I need right now. I want to see her blue eyed gaze, and hear that steady voice, and have her fuss over me. I could really enjoy someone fussing over me after the few days I've just lived through. Of course, I'd never let her know that. She fusses, I bat her away - but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy it!

"And meanwhile, I found a room with all these keys in it, so I thought I'd wander around investigating. Do you have any idea how big this place is?" He asks, as we push past him towards the door.

"Yes, Lenny. We do." I murmur. "We've lived here for the past few days, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." He runs to keep up with us, as Skinner discovers some remnants of energy, and strides purposefully in the direction of the Arena. "Well, it's amazing. If it weren't for the circumstances, I could really enjoy myself in a place like this." He gives me a sideways grin, and nudges me in the ribs. "I bet you enjoyed yourself just a teeny bit, Mulder." He says with another wink. Shit, I'd forgotten just how irritating Lenny can be.

"Lenny. Please. Shut up." I say desperately, hoping he doesn't talk like this when Scully's around. I really can't handle her raised eyebrows and tart comments on the subject right now.

"Aw, now, you should be nice to me. I'm the reason you guys are free." He pouts.

"You are?" Skinner stops and turns around.

"Yeah. Kendall's gorgeous, I'm not denying that," Lenny smirks, "but he's not always very smart is he? He was doing all of this complicated search stuff and database sifting type thingamajig. God, you could have still been here at Christmas by the time he'd gone through all that stuff."

I give Skinner a meaningful glance that he completely ignores. Lenny continues.

"Anyway, I got to thinking about Saunders, and asked around, and found out that he's got a few "boys" he's friendly with, if you get my meaning. I checked up on them and one was this doctor, Alec, or something."

"Adam?" I ask, in a tone of frank disbelief.

"Yeah - that's the guy. Skinny, light-haired thing. Oh well, I staked his place out for a day or so, and someone sent this limo for him, and I thought - hello, what's this? An ER doctor with a chauffeur-driven limo? Yeah, RIGHT! So I followed it for quite a way, before I lost it, then I told Kendall where to start looking for it. It took me ages to persuade him that it was worth a try. He kept going on about APB's, and 302's, and SAC's, and all these other stupid initials until I could have screamed at him. Actually, I think I did. Several times." Lenny grins. "And I'm really good at screaming - I've had lots of practice. So, anyway, they found you soon enough once I got them out here looking. Thank god I did because you have no idea how isolated this place is. Could have taken them years to find you..." He rambles on quite happily until I shut him up by putting my hand over his mouth.

"Thanks, Lenny. We owe you." I tell him. Skinner grunts sourly. I elbow him sharply in the ribs.

"Yeah, all right. We owe you. Thanks." He echoes grudgingly, as if it pains him to say it. And I guess it does! All his best agents working on it, and it's Lenny the airhead who shows the most initiative. He must be deeply wounded. It gives me considerable pleasure to think about how often I'm going to bring this subject up in the next few months.

"Mulder!" We no sooner step inside the Arena than I find Scully hurtling towards me, throwing her arms around me, and clinging on, sending a wave of pain shooting down my back.

"Ow." I disengage her gently. "Scully, am I ever glad to see you." I tell her, grinning stupidly.

"Shit, Mulder." She wrinkles her nose at me. "What's happened to you?" She takes a step back, and looks me up and down. "Not that this isn't a good look for you... but, shit." She examines the bites on me, and her eyes rake over my scarred back. "Oh, Mulder. Are you all right?" I can guess what's going through her mind. Kendall must have told her everything about these guys, and the way they operate.

"I'm fine, Scully." I tell her firmly.

"But..." She can't take her eyes off the liberal marks on my body.

"Really. I am fine. It all looks worse than it is." My eyes search the room anxiously for Skinner, but he's back in Assistant Director mode, seeking out Kendall, rapping out orders, seemingly oblivious to his state of undress.

"Lenny - can you do me a favor?" I beckon him over. "Could you find us both a shirt each? And some shoes, please?"

"Sure thing, Mulder. I just lurve helping you FBI guys out. You're all so cute and clueless." He rushes off as commanded, and returns a few minutes later with the requested items. I shrug myself into the shirt, luxuriating in the dignity it affords me and slip the shoes on, taking the other shirt over to Skinner. I help him into it absently while he continues briefing Kendall, and listening to Kendall's own briefing, then I kneel down, and tie his shoelaces for him. It's only when I finish doing this that I notice the strange looks I'm getting and back away, flushing furiously. What seemed like the most natural thing in the world during our time in this place is a serious faux pas back in the Real World. It might take some time to adjust back again.

"Right - how many still unaccounted for?" Skinner is asking. Kendall looks down at his notebook, which is crammed full of copious notes in neat handwriting.

"Only two. Most of them didn't even put up a fight." Kendall replies.

"So much for the tough guy stuff." I mutter.

"And we found about thirty in one of the rooms. They didn't even make a move." Kendall shrugs.

"They're the subs. They didn't know about any of the murders." I inform Kendall.

"They'll all have to be taken in." Skinner says firmly. "I want everyone thoroughly questioned. Mulder, have you made sure that the guy we saw a few days ago, in the other cell in the Zone, is free?"

"Yeah - it's the first thing I did. No sign of him - he must have been returned to the slave pen at some point." I shrug.

"Good. Kendall, I want those two missing men found. Now." He barks, and Kendall scurries off. I catch sight of Saunders over the other side of the room, his arms handcuffed behind his back. Something inside me just snaps, and I charge over there.

"So, Agent Mulder. It seems you got lucky after all." He murmurs, seemingly undaunted by his situation, retaining that same air of dangerous elegance that is his trademark.

"Yeah. Looks like it. How does it feel to be the one in handcuffs for a change?" I ask him. He smiles.

"How does it feel to have discovered what you truly are?" He whispers, slyly. "You should be thanking me, Fox, not taunting me. I'm guessing that you and Assistant Director Skinner didn't, uh, consummate your delightful passion before you came here?"

"You can guess what you like." I spit back at him.

"Come now, don't protest. I saw the bite marks on your body. You didn't make those yourself. Isn't that taking undercover work just a bit too far?" He smirks. I take great pleasure in sinking my fist deep into his stomach, and he gasps, and drops to his knees. I pull him back up.

"My words must have struck home to get that reaction." He hisses into my ear. "Or was that for winning you, and nearly possessing you, Fox?"

"Oh that wasn't for me." I snap back. "That was for him. And so is this." I smash my fist sharply across his jaw, holding him still so that he can't pull back, and a satisfying bruise rises quickly on his flesh. "That was for making him fight when you could see that he was ill, and for calling in your useless pet quack, and for having me pump him full of god knows what drug, and...I could go on. I'm nowhere near settling this score yet." I draw my fist back again, only to find it grasped from behind.

"Go make yourself useful somewhere." Skinner hisses. "We'll all turn a blind eye to those two, but no more. Now go."

"Your self control is, as ever, enviable." Saunders grins at my boss. "And of course I've always admired your handling of your hot-headed..." he pauses, and his eyes rake over me gleefully. "What shall I call him? Colleague?" He imbues that word with as much sarcastic disbelief as possible.

"It's over, Saunders." Skinner growls, not anywhere near being goaded by this maniac low-life. "If I were you, I'd just shut up and keep your head down. After what you've put us through during the past few days, you really don't want to piss me off any more."

"My dear Mr. Skinner," Saunders purrs. "What could you possibly do about it legally if I chose not to keep my mouth shut? I have everything to gain, and nothing to lose by telling the world about you and your pretty colleague."

Skinner smiles, and it is the nastiest, most evil smile that I've ever seen on his face. "You don't know anything, Saunders. And what makes you think that anybody would believe scum like you?" He dips his head and speaks softly into Saunders's ear. "I would also advise you to ask yourself if you'd really like to see me with nothing left to lose. I know a lot of people, and I've earned a few favors over the years. I'd happily call them in. Mulder may not be the only one inclined to express his loyalty to me in such a... vehement way." He glances at my bruised knuckles.

Saunders isn't a fool. He recognizes real-life authority when he sees it, and his blue eyes flash angrily, but he closes his mouth, and doesn't say another word. Skinner gives me an impatient look, and gestures with his head for me to leave. I walk away, passing a handcuffed Matt. So that bastard is still alive - it looks like "Mithras" didn't get his sacrificial offering tonight after all. I just get to the door when I see Skinner swaying in mid-conversation with Agent Roberts. I'm back beside him in nanoseconds, one hand under his arm to stop him falling over.

"This can wait. You need a doctor." I gesture to Scully. Skinner's eyes have clouded over again, and I can see that he's having trouble focusing. I hold his head between my hands, and try the finger trick again, but he's dead on his feet and can't follow it. "Kendall can wrap this up. It's right up his alley. Lots of paperwork." I grin. "You're not needed here."

"Neither are you," Scully tells me tartly. "You both need a thorough medical examination, and complete bed rest."

"Don't count on it, Scully," I murmur, turning away to call Kendall over, and tell him to finish everything up. "I think we've probably spent more than enough time in bed." Luckily, she doesn't hear this, and five minutes later we're on our way to hospital.

We get separated in the ER. Then next thing I know, he's been taken off to a renal unit in a different hospital, and I'm discharged with pain killers and some disapproving looks from the doctors concerning the nature of my injuries. Scully sends me home and tells me that I am, under no circumstances, to set foot in the Hoover building for the next three days at least, and she's probably right, but we both know there's no way I'm going to obey that order.

All the same, it's a relief to open my apartment door and step inside. It feels like a different life, a different place, a different time. If I close my eyes, I can almost believe that none of it ever happened. Only, the trouble is, that there are some parts of it that I'm glad happened. There are parts I want to re-live forever, and others that make me want to scream, and permanently erase them from my memory. I take a shower, remembering the shower I took with him, and feel the water washing away the scent of Mithras, with its underground tunnels, and corridors, and distinctive smells. It feels strange to put on my own clothes (hey! underwear!), to feed my fish, to be sitting here, as if none of it ever happened. Strange and curiously empty. I have no companion, nobody to hold me, nobody to talk to, or spar with. I miss him. Now that both the danger, and the dizzying sexual madness have passed, my adrenaline levels adjust back down to normal, leaving me floundering in the worst low I've ever experienced. Exhausted, hungry, and lonely, I give in to the tears that want to claim me as surely as he ever did, and my misery swamps me. I lie on the couch, just crying, for endless long, empty hours.

When I finally track him down, I am informed that he's in a "stable condition", but he's not allowed visitors. Then Kendall needs my help, and anyway, I want to make sure that my report is completed in order to nail Saunders, and the other crazies as soon as possible. So, I end up returning to work the following day, as Scully knew I would, although she goes through the motions of deep disapproval anyway, pursing her lips at me and shaking her head, and giving me frosty looks every hour, on the hour, to make sure that I know I'm not getting away with anything. After five hectic days of interviews, interrogations, report-writing, and general cleaning up of details, I hear on the grapevine that he's been released from hospital and told to recuperate at home for a few days. He doesn't call, and I don't know what to do. Maybe it's best to let it drop, and pretend that it never happened. Maybe it can all be put down to the time spent in that crazy environment, a kind of madness. Maybe he's convinced himself that was why it happened in the first place, and now things are back to normal. Fuck, I don't know. I just know I miss him.

Predictably, he doesn't recuperate at home as instructed, and is back at work the day after his release from hospital. I only see him once, in the corridor, and he's looking better. The bruises on his face have almost faded, although I could still point out to you where each one was. I don't think I'll ever forget. He nods at me as he passes, deep in discussion with Kendall. A nod? Is that all I'm worth to the guy now? Fuck, but I'm not sure whether I hate him or love him at this moment. He's Mr. Repressed, back-in-his-box, A.D. Skinner and I want to scream at him, only I'm sure I'd just see incomprehension and steely self control in those dark eyes of his if I did.

The following day, he summons the whole team to a de-briefing, and goes over the report that he has written, along with the one that I have supplied. Oddly, both are missing some fairly salient details. I can't think why... The meeting is a new kind of torment. He is his normal workplace self again. I see no flashes of the man I came to know so intimately. The one who claimed me and held me. The man whose sense of humor asserted itself at the most bizarre and inappropriate times, whose fascinating depths were revealed to me layer by layer, as we were stripped of everything but our most basic selves. The man with the strangely compelling habit of roaring like a tiger at the moment of orgasm, to say nothing of possessing a dazzlingly arousing body odor, is totally absent. I try to put these thoughts out of my head as he sits there, looking as grim and businesslike as usual, but it's hard. He doesn't even look at me. It's as if I mean nothing to him, and maybe I do.

I'm surprised to see Lenny at the briefing. He's looking gorgeous, resplendent in a flowing white shirt and tight dark jeans, his blonde curls flowing loose down his neck. This is his 'Lenny-the-romantic-hero' look, and he plays the part for all it's worth.

"Lenny, I just wanted to thank you personally." Skinner nods at him. "For all your help on this case." He glances coolly at Kendall who suddenly finds his own shoes of particular interest.

"That's okay, Mr Skinner, sir." Lenny beams. "I was glad to be of help. You FBI guys, you're all so strong and tough and clever, but sometimes you forget it's all about people. You know? Too many of those fancy databases, and not enough rubbing shoulders with the little guys, like me. I know what some of you boys thought of me when Mulder first brought me in on this. I may be small but I'm cute, and cute can get answers too..." I think it's very likely that he'd go on forever, but Skinner has allowed him his moment of glory, and interrupts smoothly.

"Well, thanks again, Lenny. We'll remember that in future." He nods gravely as if he's been given some very sage advice and scribbles something on his notepad. I can just imagine it reading something like: "Note to self: New FBI directive. Instruct agents to be cute at all times. Cute is good, cute gets results...Initiate new "cute offensive"... investigate sending all agents on 'discovering the cute you' course..."

I'm so busy with that reverie that I completely miss his next question.

"...Mulder?" He's staring at me. So is everyone else in the room.

"Sorry, sir?" I blink and smile weakly. He frowns.

"I was asking where your medical data is. You were writing up that report with Agent Scully?"

"Yes sir. Um, that's not finished..." I can't stop my eyes travelling over the massive expanse of white dress shirt, wondering what it would be like to undo the dark tie, unbutton the shirt, slowly, maybe starting at the cuffs, or perhaps at the neck, or being daring, and going straight for his pants, bypassing the shirt altogether.

"Why not?" He asks.

"Because I had to complete the other report. And I was busy compiling the data from the interviews. I didn't have time to do everything." I tell him resentfully.

"Get it done." He tells me brusquely.

"Yeah, well give me more than 24 hours in the day, and I'll work faster." I mutter insolently. His head snaps up at that, and he glares at me, making me wish I hadn't spoken.

"24 hours is exactly how long you've got." He tells me, a look of thunder on his face. I bite back another smart response, and notice Lenny glancing from me to Skinner. A feeling of d�j... vu descends on me like a black cloud, making me even more depressed.

Finally, after another excruciating half-hour, the meeting is over. I get up to leave with the rest of them, but he calls me back.

"Not you, Mulder. I want a word with you."

"Sir?" I sit down in the chair opposite his desk, wondering what will happen next. Damn, but this is as bad as being back at Mithras. Everything is out of my control, and dependent upon the actions of someone else.

"I'm putting a commendation on your file as a result of your work on this one." He tells me, his expression not lightening for a second. "You put yourself in a position of great personal danger in order to solve this case, and that should be recognized. Your observations were, as always, correct, and your hunches panned out with unerring accuracy."

"Thank you, sir." I murmur, knowing that I put him in as much danger as I put myself, and not feeling particularly proud of that.

"I'm also putting a reprimand on your file as well." He pauses, and sighs. "Probably the first time someone has been issued with both for the same case, but I suppose it was inevitable it would happen to you at some point. I don't dispute your brilliance, Agent Mulder, but your judgement can be called into question on a number of occasions, and I refuse to turn a blind eye to your blatant disregard for Bureau procedures, including, and most particularly, the chain of command." He glares at me meaningfully and then proceeds to give me the most thorough chewing out of my entire career, in a flat, monotone voice, completely devoid of anything like those sexy, erotic, command tones he used on me back at Mithras. I struggle between wanting to lose my temper with him, and accepting that most of what he is saying is probably true. My mind goes back to that deal we made when I was wallowing in guilt before the last fight, and I decide on the latter course. He did, after all, nearly die because of me. I haven't forgotten that. I feel so deflated that I almost wish I was facing a life in the slave-pen and not back in the basement, although, thinking about it, maybe there's not that much difference...

"Do you have anything to say?" He asks me when he's finished.

"No." I shrug. "You seem to have covered everything with your usual attention to detail. Sir." I imbue that last word with as much rebellion as I can muster, and it doesn't go unnoticed. The expression in his dark eyes is furious.

"Very well. You're dismissed then, Agent Mulder."

That's it? Just dismissed? No, "Let's make wild passionate love on my desk, Agent Mulder"? No "Get your clothes off, and get over here, Fox."? No "Thank you for your personal services, and the stunning use to which you put your tongue during this mission, Agent Mulder."?

I leave his office consumed by a maelstrom of misery and only just manage to stop myself slamming the door on my way out. So that's the way it's going to be. Well fuck him. Fuck him! He clearly wants to put the whole mess behind us and move on. My feelings are probably far more profound than his anyway. He just felt frustrated and aroused by that massage I gave him, lost control, and now regrets his impulsive actions. That's fair enough. He never exactly talked about a "relationship" after all. I was the one who brought up the "L" word, and I could kick myself for that now. It all seems so different when you're staring death in the face. I kick open the door to my office, still muttering to myself, to find Lenny sitting in my chair, swinging around in it, and whistling to himself.

"Hey buddy!" He grins.

"Lenny. You shouldn't be here. You're not allowed to just wander around the building on your own, it's against the rules." I tell him coldly, finding my file of medical data, and flicking through it to see how much more work it needs.

"Oh well, you know what they say about rules." Lenny winks. "They're made to be broken. Hey, you should know that, Mulder. It's your motto isn't it?"

"No. My motto is 'trust no one'. Now what do you want, Lenny?"

"You can trust me." He pouts. "And I wanted to know what the hell is going on between you and the divine love god of the upper floors."

"And who would that be?" I glare at him.

"Oh come on, buddy! This is Lenny you're talking to!" He shakes his head. "The sexual tension whizzing between you two in that meeting had enough sparks to blow up large buildings. What is it with you guys? I thought you'd sorted everything out."

"It wasn't sexual tension." I tell him through gritted teeth. "It was professional tension. Subtle difference."

"Looked like the same old U-S-T to me." He grins. "Unresolved Sexual Tension." He explains, upon seeing my blank look. "See, this initials stuff is catching. Must be something about this building. Now tell me, Fox, honey - you did sleep with the guy, right?"

"What?" I frown, still pretending to look through the file.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me. I'm as discreet as they come. Hand on heart." He places his hand over the pocket of his flowing white shirt to illustrate the point.

"Somehow I doubt that." I tell him. "You don't exactly strike me as the secretive type, Lenny."

"Aw, you can tell your bestest friend in the whole world." Lenny wheedles.

"Lenny, since when have you been my best friend?" I demand.

"I don't see anyone else competing with me for the job. Maybe there's a vacancy." He smiles and leans back in the chair, putting his feet on the desk. "So anyway, I think you need some advice from Uncle Lenny. Who else is gonna help you, huh? Did you tell the scary little red-head about any of this?"

"No, of course not." I hiss.

"Ah, so there is something to tell?" He isn't gloating; his expression is genuinely concerned. With a sigh I sit down on the edge of my desk and shake my head.

"I don't know what to do about it, Lenny." I tell him, wretchedly. "Since we got back, he hasn't said a word to me about, you know, everything."

"Well, have you said anything to him?" Lenny asks. I shake my head, and Lenny groans and rolls his eyes around. "Clueless. I thought as much. You FBI guys are just so dumb. I'm gonna sort this out, right now." He charges out of the basement and along the corridor before I can stop him.

"Lenny!" I shout frantically. "Fuck, Lenny, stop! Oh shit!" He slips into the elevator just as the door closes, smiling sweetly at me, and leaving me pounding pointlessly on the door. I have no doubts as to where he's going. Shit, fuck, shit! I make for the stairs, flying up them three at a time, and crash through the door to Kimberley's office just in time to see Lenny march past her, and open the door to Skinner's lair. I sink down in one of the chairs, burying my head in my knees.

"Will you be at home tonight, about 8pm?" Lenny asks my astonished boss.

"Uh, yeah...I suppose..." I hear him reply, obviously taken aback.

"Good. Make sure that you are. Expect a nice little package, special delivery from me at that time. I don't want to find out tomorrow that it had to sit out all cold and lonely on your doorstep all night." Lenny closes the door again, and grins at me, giving me a thumbs-up signal. "We're cooking, Mulder!" He laughs, dragging me back out of Kimberley's office. Kimberley watches us go with a resigned shrug. She's used to me bursting into Skinner's office, making a scene. Lenny's just a variation on a familiar theme to her.

"I am not doing this." I tell Lenny as he sits in my apartment later that evening, poking his finger into my fish tank curiously.

"Do they bite? Of course you're doing it, Mulder." He flicks the water experimentally. "Faint heart never won fair sex god." He grins. "I should know. Sometimes you just have to take the initiative."

"He knows where I live. He could have phoned me." I mutter resentfully.

"Oh, who gives a fuck?" Lenny wipes his fingers on his jeans. "Just get over there, and point your bottom lip at him, honey. Bet it takes him about three seconds to melt. Are you going to wear that?" He glances at my work suit suspiciously, but I have no intention of changing, and anyway, jeans might look like a proposition after Mithras.

"I'm not changing." I growl.

"Oh all right. If it works you won't be wearing anything for long." He grins, then gets hold of me, and bundles me out of the door. "Deep breaths, baby. Trust your Uncle Lenny. It'll all work out for the best in the end."

We manage to get to Skinner's apartment block, but I get a sudden attack of nerves in the elevator.

"This is stupid, Lenny. He's made it quite clear that he doesn't want anything more to do with me. It was just that place, those people...all the danger. We both lost it. We've got our careers to think about. This is never going to work. He's going to tell me all this, he's going to tell me to leave..." I hold onto the elevator doors, and Lenny pries each of my fingers open, finally smacking my hands away.

"Mulder." He says firmly. "Do as I say, and nobody will get hurt. Not unless they want to be anyhow." He winks knowingly. "Now move!" He shoves me from behind.

"For a little guy with a taste for being submissive, you really know how to be tough." I grunt at him.

"Oh, Mulder, for a clever guy, you sure can be dense. I don't know what goes on in that supersonic brain of yours sometimes." He rolls his eyes. "It's about getting what you want, not about being weak. And I am tough. Very. Now come on." He drags me along the corridor to Skinner's door, and I hesitate, holding my hand up, unable to knock. Shit, I've been here before and it was always so easy. You just rap your knuckles against the door. Simple. Why can't I do it now?

"I can't." I moan, leaning my head on the door.

"Uncle Lenny to the rescue." Lenny takes the decision away from me, and knocks sharply on the door before I can stop him.

"I'm going." I start to turn, and Lenny lunges at my neck, hanging on, and stopping me bodily, his feet on mine. That's when the door is opened.

"Special delivery for you. The nice, little package as promised." Lenny says, patting my ass. He thrusts me past a bemused Skinner, and through the open door, before skipping off down the corridor, and leaving us to it. I feel like I've been abandoned in a lion's den. This is worse than being trapped at Mithras. I stand there helplessly in the hallway, swallowing convulsively.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come." I mutter to him weakly. He's still dressed in his work suit as well. White shirt, dark tie. Immaculate as ever. And the expression on his face would make many a grown man quake. I watch him slam the door shut behind me and I flinch. He advances on me, his eyes dark, and I back away from him, nervously. Then, without any warning, I find myself pinned against the wall, his arm across my chest, his hand in my hair as he kisses me savagely. My nervous terror evaporates, and with it goes all the strength in my legs. Luckily, he's holding me up. I dangle there for a second, his mouth pressed urgently against mine, sucking all the life out of me, his tongue thrusting into me passionately.

"Hello, Mulder. Nice to see you, Mulder..." I murmur pointedly when he lets me draw breath.

"I'm not very good with words." He grins, that feral grin I've never seen at the office.

"You were good enough with them this afternoon." I point out.

"That was different. This is personal. God, I've been stuck in a hospital for a week thinking about nothing else but you." His hands are running over my body like he's some sort of starving animal that's been deprived of food.

"You have? Why didn't you call?" I ask.

"Why didn't you visit?" He counters.

"They wouldn't let me. Then Kendall wanted me to...oh fuck, it doesn't matter. I wasn't sure where I stood."

"I don't want you standing anywhere." He sucks my neck, then propels me up the stairs, and into the bedroom. "Fuck, I've missed you." He whispers, closing the door behind us, and coming to stare into my eyes.

"Then why didn't you say anything? I thought it was over." I whimper, as his fingers gently caress my neck.

"I wasn't sure how to handle it. I've never been in this situation before. I didn't want you thinking I'd exploited you." He says, holding my face in his hands, and kissing my throat.

"Exploited me how?" I gasp.

"You were vulnerable at Mithras. You were dependant upon me for everything there. You weren't even allowed to feed yourself, couldn't defend yourself. I was always cast as the conquering hero who had to fight to save you from sexual predators, right and left. After we were rescued, I started to wonder if you felt as though you had any real choice in what had happened between us. For all I knew, you had started to hate my guts for it. That was the impression I had in that meeting earlier today. Then, when Lenny barged into my office, I...well, after figuring out that you were the "nice, little package" he was referring to, I was pretty damn pleased. I went out shopping especially for the occasion." He nods at his bedside table, where I can see a tube of lubricant and a whole king-sized box of condoms.

"What, no sex toys?" I berate, allowing him to lick down the side of my neck. "No whips, gags, chains or handcuffs? I've come to expect the full works you know."

"Your call." His hands are urgent on my body, caressing me all over. "I don't need any of it, but if you want to experiment, buy whatever turns you on, and we'll see what we can do with it. Safely."

"Sounds good to me, sir." I feel a warmth spread inside me at his words, because they imply that this is something that's going to last, something on-going, not just a series of wild and unrestrained sexual encounters. Although I hope there'll be plenty of them too.

"Oh fuck, you can't keep calling me 'sir'. You call me that at work." He gently strokes his hands down the sides of my arms and I reach out to undo his tie, then the top button of his shirt. "Call me Walter. Or Master." He grins.

"What?" I growl, distracted momentarily from the sheer pleasure of easing him out of one of his dazzlingly white shirts, and finding the honeyed flesh underneath.

"Depending on what sort of mood you're in. I know what you're like." His grin widens. "Speaking of work." His face immediately grows serious again. "We need to think up some ground rules on that. I won't be showing you any special favors."

"I wouldn't ask for any." I shake my head.

"Good. Then it's like I said back at Mithras. Work at work - we keep this stuff for our off duty hours. I don't want you confusing the two. Stop that." He swats my insistent, fumbling hands away from his shirt.

"But I want to..."

"I know. You can't. I had something else in mind for tonight."

"Oh yeah..." I challenge, luxuriating in the scent of Eau de Skinner as it wafts over me, overwhelming me with its raw, sexual pheromones.

"Yeah." He pauses, looking stupid.

"Well?" I prompt.

"Well, uh, like I said, I'm uh, not very good with words, and all this...personal stuff. You know, the emotional crap." He's flushing a peculiar shade of red. "You know, back, um, in the Zone, you said something that, uh meant a lot to me, and I wanted to...shit. Look, I'll show you instead. Close your eyes," he whispers. I do as commanded, and hold my breath as he walks behind me. Then I feel his arms cross in front of my chest, and he undoes my tie, loosening it slowly, sensuously, before pulling it out from my collar. I can feel his cheek pressed against mine as he works, the smoothness of his bare scalp against my hair, and the side of my face. His lips are on the back of my neck as he unbuttons my shirt, slowly, button by button. His fingers tease my flesh as he goes, and my cock pulses into life. He gently pushes the shirt down my back, allowing it to fall to the floor. Then he kneels down in front of me, untying my shoes, helping me to step out of them, before peeling off my socks.

"There's no danger here, Fox." He whispers, standing behind me again, his hands on my pants, unbuttoning them. "Just you and me. No psychopaths, nobody telling us how to run our sex life. You can relax now. We're safe."

Oh shit. His words are soothing, caressing me, turning me on. I sigh, and lean back against his chest, luxuriating in the feel of that cool shirt against my bare skin. He unzips me, and then pushes my pants slowly down my thighs, his mouth traveling down my back as he goes, ending up at my butt. "Step out of them," he whispers and I obey, lost in an erotic world I don't ever want to leave. Then I can feel his fingers in my boxers, tracing their way around the waistband, dipping down towards my cock, gently playing with my balls, making me gasp.

"Fuck..." I moan, leaning back into him even more. He takes my weight on his hips and chest, his mouth still exploring the back of my neck and my hair. Then his fingers twine in the fabric of my boxers and they follow the rest of my clothing onto the floor, leaving me standing there, naked.

"Keep your eyes closed." He whispers, then he guides me onto the bed and pushes me down onto it.

He disappears and, a moment later, he returns, and rolls me onto my front. "Make sure you keep them closed," he murmurs, and my cock immediately gets even harder at his tone. I feel his fingers on my shoulders, sliding down my back, massaging me with oil. "I wanted to return the favor," he whispers. "Keep still." Either he's an expert in personal massage, or just being touched by him is a sensory delight. Either way, those blunt fingers find every last muscle in my body, caressing me with long, sensuous strokes until I'm abandoned to a place of total bliss. Finally he kisses my fingers and my arms, then down my back, lingering on my butt, before ending up at the soles of my feet, and the gesture isn't lost on me. I remember doing this to him, turning that massage I gave him into an expression of the love I didn't dare to vocalize. That's when I realize what he's doing and, abandoning all pretense of being macho, I have to report that it turns me into a quivering sap.

He rolls me over and starts on my chest, down over my abdomen, ignoring my swollen, eager, cock and ending up once more at my feet. Then he gently massages my face, and his fingers probe my scalp for endless blissful moments. When he finishes, it's very likely that I've been transported to Mulderheaven. I open my eyes, and kiss his forehead and his nose and his mouth, repeating his response to me after I massaged him a couple of weeks ago to show him that I understand the message. Then I pull him closer, wanting him to devour me as he did that first time we made love.

"No...not tonight. You see, I wanted to show you...I, uh, can make love without going completely nuts you know." He mutters, looking shamefaced.

"I like it when you go nuts." I protest.

"Yeah. But I need to show you what it's like when I'm gentle, so you have something to compare it with." He grins.

"I don't need anything to compare it with. I haven't complained before have I?" I grumble.

"Not until now, no." He says, shaking his head. "But you're going to enjoy this, so just do as you're told. Lie still. I still want to own you, to consume you." He grins wickedly as he says those words. "But in a different way. Give yourself up to me, Fox."

"Like I don't want to." I grin, and he slides down behind me, his hands caressing my flesh.

"Relax completely," he orders, his fingers running lightly over my butt, and then pushing inside me, slowly, teasingly, still slick with oil. I find myself moaning as he inserts another finger, massaging inside me, finding my prostate and making me gasp and buck against him with the pleasure. He brings me to the point of climax with that slow, teasing, massage, and then removes his fingers, leaving me trembling on the brink. He lifts me up gently. "Undress me. Slowly. Like you said you would." He whispers and my nerveless fingers fumble with his shirt, my lips finding all the fading bruises and cuts on his body, the faint marks on the inside of his elbow where he must have been attached to a drip in the hospital. I undo his belt and his pants, and he's kissing my hair all the time as I slowly push them down his body, finding his cock, wanting to take it in my mouth.

"No." He strokes my hair, gently disengaging me, and kicks the remains of his clothing onto the floor.

"I want to..." I start protesting again but he stops me.

"Sssh...just do as I say." He pushes me back, unresisting, onto the bed, and I give a squeal of pure sensory delight as I feel him take my cock into his mouth. He's never done this before, and it's exquisite, like being wrapped in dark, warm, liquid chocolate.

"Oh fuck..." I thrust up against him. "Shit...can I come?" I ask. His mouth gently, softly, slides back up my shaft to the tip, and he rolls his tongue over it, giving it a lazily flick that makes me shudder.

"Any time you want." He whispers, before returning to the task. It doesn't take long. Another 10 seconds and I come in his throat, hearing a deep, rumbling chuckle emanate from him. "You are so responsive." He whispers, taking hold of my hand, and guiding it down to his thick, hard, cock. "Do you want me inside you?"

"Ask a stupid question..." I choke. He rolls me onto my stomach, and I expect to feel his hard cock against my ass, so I'm taken by surprise by his warm tongue as it separates my butt cheeks, and licks inside me. "Oh shit..." He works for several minutes, dipping into me, his tongue sliding around, until I'm hard again. Nobody has ever done this to me before, and it's breathtaking. "You could have warned me." I gasp in protest as he finishes, licking his way up my spine to the base of my neck.

"I didn't specify which part of me I was going to put inside you. Not like you to make assumptions based on ambiguous data, Agent Mulder. Or is it...?" He grins.

"Bastard, bastard, bastard..." I mutter, but that last "bastard" turns into a high pitched squeak as his hand closes around my stiffening cock.

"Don't call me names when I have a sensitive part of your anatomy in my hand." He rubs my cock gently with his thumb until it's fully erect again. "You see, that's what I like about you, Fox. Totally rampant. Do you think that you can come on command?" He whispers silkily. "I'd like that."

"I'm not sure." I pant, as his fingers move faster and harder over my cock.

"We'll try it and see...of course, in the bedroom, unlike at work, I expect you to at least try to be obedient." His strokes are pumping me, and I sense him maneuvering with his free hand, finding a condom, opening it with his teeth, sliding it onto his cock, and then wiping lube onto it, all the while maintaining that steady pressure on my cock with his other hand. God, he's good at this! "Gently," he whispers, and I can feel his cock gliding into my ready, waiting ass; smoothly, without pain. He's warm within me, stretching me sensuously with his long, timed thrusts, like a lazy cat, taking his time, and all the while that insistent caress is bringing me to the brink of orgasm again.

"Faster...harder..." I pant, and he slows down to almost nothing, his cock barely moving within me, his hand just wafting along my dick, totally languid. "Fuck you, I said harder..." I moan, pressing myself back against him.

"Yeah, I heard you...isn't it good, holding back, wanting more...trembling, waiting?" He nuzzles the side of my neck.

"Oh shit, yes, it's good." He's right about the trembling. I can feel my whole body convulsing with the need to climax, and the teasing, nudging, maddening slowness of his cock and hand.

"Do you like it slow...?" He grinds his thighs against my butt in a dizzying circular motion that makes me break into a sweat.

"Yes...oh yes..." I scream, desperate for my orgasm.

"I said you would. You should listen to me more often." His fingers tip-toe along my shaft, and his cock shifts inside me. I can feel my muscles clenching on it, milking him, but still he retains that control, holding on, not thrusting, just moving gently. Maybe he is superhuman after all.

"Now, are you ready to come?" His fingertips are like gossamer on my cock.

"No, more, more, please..." I beg.

"One more thing we might like to re-cap on..." He whispers, barely touching me. "Who is it you belong to?"

"You!"

His hand suddenly closes around my penis, giving one long, hard caress at the same time as his cock angles up in a quick thrust against my prostate.

"Now." He says, and I can't believe it when I find myself spurting out on cue. He bellows with laughter, holding me close, and continues his slow, effortless thrusting until he also reaches climax, but he's so tightly controlled that he doesn't shout his sexual release this time. He withdraws gently, holding me tight and kisses my sweaty neck.

"I'll accept that in your case actions can speak louder than words." I murmur. "But one day, I may have to make you actually say it."

"Maybe I will. One day." He replies.

EPILOGUE.

"I still can't believe we agreed to this." He shifts uncomfortably, clinking and clanking as the slightest movement sends his clothing into a metallic cacophony of sound.

"We didn't have any choice." I grin. "Lenny did save our lives after all. And it isn't much to ask."

"Humph." He grunts sourly. "You're not the one who's dressed up like some sort of extra from a movie about Ancient Rome."

"Oh you look divine!" I grin, doing my best Lenny voice, and he does. Lenny has insisted that we accompany him to Krypton, dressed in clothing that he has provided, as a thank-you for his help in the case. This means that he finally gets the chance to dress Skinner up in that fantasy outfit he has long itched to see my boss and erstwhile lover wearing. So, my butch man is clad in a chain mail vest, and a pair of tight, black, leather trousers, with chunky biker boots on his feet that buckle up at regular intervals around his calves. He has two wrist bands, stretching from wrist to elbow, covered in metallic studs, and around his waist is a thick leather belt, bearing the legend "MASTER" in extravagant curly lettering, with a whip at one end and a snake at the other. I'm not sure what relevance the snake has. Around his throat is a shiny, silver collar, and tucked into his belt is a menacing riding crop.

"Humph." He says again, glowering at me, and everyone who passes within a ten feet radius of us. This being Krypton, his expression merely sends a dozen passing subs into raptures of ecstasy.

"Stop complaining. I didn't get let off lightly either." I point out, and he grins.

"Yeah. That's my only consolation," he says. I am wearing rubber this evening, you'll be amused to know. Tight, shiny rubber trousers. They are neon red, and believe me, they leave NOTHING to the imagination. My belt is a sad imitation of Skinner's, and has "SLAVE" engraved on it in plain lettering, with no snakes, or whips, or anything, which is disappointing. I did refuse to wear it initially, but after Skinner had agreed to the chain mail, it seemed churlish, and Lenny was at his pouting best.

"I did save your lives, Mulder." He whined. "You could have died in that place. Oh pleeeaaasseee, Mulder. Please." It's hard to resist Lenny in full attack mode. I'm also wearing a cropped tee-shirt in black PVC which just about covers my nipples, and around my throat is a dog collar, with lead attached. Guess who gets to hold the lead? "I want to do it properly!" Lenny squealed. "I want you both to look just right!" If this is his definition of "right" then I dread to think what mental image he has of us, or our relationship.

"It's just a one shot deal." Skinner has warned him. "I am not doing this again. Ever. I have a position to maintain, a job... Oh hell, can you imagine the field day the agents under my supervision would have if anyone ever found out about this? I'm warning you, too, Mulder. Nobody gets to hear about this."

After the fun of dressing us up, and dragging us here, Lenny predictably abandons us as soon as someone big and strong makes a play for him, and disappears onto the dance floor.

"Perhaps we should dance." I suggest, glancing at the heaving bodies.

"Over my dead body." Skinner grunts, knocking back a whisky. Annie Lennox is blaring out some suitably possessive lyrics, and I must say that I think I could enjoy myself here if I can persuade him to loosen up. Someone drops pathetically at his feet, and starts licking his boots, and I kick them away, savagely.

"I was enjoying that," Skinner mutters reproachfully. "What is it with you and this jealous streak?"

"Me jealous?" I gasp. "I'm not the one who fought grown men to stop them getting their hands on my lover."

"You'd have preferred it if I'd just let them have you?" He demands.

"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that I'm not as jealous as you are."

"Yeah. Right." He growls.

"Boys! Boys! Not arguing again." Lenny descends on us, wagging a finger at us both furiously. "Come on, you both have to dance. Now." He orders. Skinner opens his mouth to protest, and Lenny fixes him with a stern glare. "I said now! And this is my party so you have to do as I say. Remember, it was me who saved you both, little ol' me who risked his life to help you in your investigation, me who brought you guys together, me who..."

"Yeah, all right, Lenny. We get the point." I interrupt.

"So get dancing." Lenny orders.

"Yes, Lenny." Skinner sighs obediently, and picks up the lead, dragging me onto the dance-floor.

"And I want you, and I want you, and I want you so, it's an obsession..." The song blares out, and Skinner suddenly erupts into a frenzy of movement that we must, for want of a better word, call "dancing." In fact, he dances like he makes love, with wild, passionate abandon, completely at odds with his cool, professional demeanor at work. It's actually quite erotic, as the sight of that sweaty forehead reminds me of his performance in the bedroom, and I'm soon flinging myself around next to him. He tightens his fist around my lead, and reels me in, dragging me close and kissing me hard on the lips, opening my mouth, and sucking face until we have to come up for air, gasping.

"You know, even if this whole "relationship" thing doesn't work out, there's one consolation." I murmur.

"What's that?" He asks.

"We'll always have Krypton." I grin. He groans and rolls his eyes around at my corny joke, but I'm lucky really. He doesn't thump me too hard for it.

THE END

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